Alone, in this dreadful voyage of life
Reaping immortal fruits of pain and strife
In the mystical moist nights, from time to time
Swept with confused struggle and flight
Where innocent soul dies every night
Do you think the story of my life is right?


Alas! My life, rugged and uneven,
As is the smile upon my countenance
That has no slight or trivial influence
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
With lofty thoughts, that burns like fire
And leaves footprints on the sands of time


My dreams, an edifice too large to fill
Alpha and Omega of all things
And so endless is the memory I retain,
Of infinite sorrow and eternal hate
Covering the Earth with hate and pain
Praising the strong but pulverizing the lean


My life, a prison within prison
Shut up from outside light
Inseparably dark or false glitter,
That so suddenly blazes, and bridge
The dark abyss of my soul, but
Towards the mouth of infernal hell


Believe me, Life is only an illusionary peregrination
And an eternal odyssey in this microcosm,
That immolates our soul to reach its destination
Life, an insatiable traitor,
Slaughters its own creator
As if its resolution is to bring sinister


My life, a mere abstruse,
Showy but of little value;
So called emblem of challenge,
Is supple like a subterranean passage.
Dead leaf fell, there did it rest,
The way to my dusty death.


But I welcome it with a jest




Copyright 2001 Bhuwan Thapaliya
Photo by Robert Strappers