“Winter has arrived,” said my mother,
bracing against the frigid wind
and spitting snow.

“I have seen mountains
of snow in my life,” she says.
But I have never seen one like this.”

“The strong and fit will live
in the valley now,
but the weak shall die.
It will be a real battle
for survival,” she murmured.

We looked at each other;
and in desperation
my mother hid her face
in between her palms.

She was certainly crying.

I did not know what to do.
I cried too.

Eons of pain and snowmelt
have etched steep canyons
into the road less plateau
of our existence.

Sun has not risen yet.

We’re waiting for the Sun.
to evaporate our soul.

We are waiting for the Sun
to reach the heavenly precincts
of our emancipation.

Far away from this world,
far away from this world
of the snow and the sun.



Copyright 2007 Bhuwan Thapaliya