question

how to find it out
if words are artificial
feelings are real

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tired

tired sky

tired of the sweet songs
that you sang
and i’ve been listening to
for years,
now
i want to dance
to the tune of music
that i don’t understand

you don’t need to worry
because
i would never try to know
who composed the ‘bad and bitter’ or, say,
meaningless music of my new choice

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flowery dreams awake

if it’s forbidden,
tell me
i’ll stop sleeping
but
i won’t stop dreaming

i can dream awake

my dreams are flowery–
always

i hold my dreams firmly,
gently
and
forever
without worrying
whether
they would (not) fruit

dreams are mine
and
see, they shine

sunny flower
firmly, gently and forever
i hold you
oh my dream

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a diary of a pretender

    most of the times
    when i have no courage to say no
    i simply let the air blow
    i surrender and comply with your will

    to conceal the reluctance
    i pretend enjoying the moments subsequent
    and
    architect an impression accordingly 
    though i know
    you hate hypocrisy
    (so do i)

    when i am natural and spontaneous
    you dislike what i do
    and
    both of us suffer

    now
    i am afraid of ending up with this role only
    in my wish
    to see you smile momentarily

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anticlimax

    i didn’t want to start it,
    it kicked off on its own
    i tried to end it, 
    it took a dramatic turn

    while swinging to and fro
    and 
    traversing a curve of pain and joy 
    for an age 
    there i get to feel a fleeting numbness
    (every now and then)

    as
    similar episodes repeat
    the worst feelings of paranoia hit
    forcing me to believe that 
    the story would end with an anticlimax
    the way i would never cherish

a mural at gairidhara, kathmandu

a mural at gairidhara, kathmandu

    the fate is set
    and
    i would let it happen
    (as if i have control over the events)

    because 
    i realise — the sooner the better

    now
    i’m desperately waiting for 
    the anticlimax (happening)
    and
    ultimately
    the end of the story
    that would never be written

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fate is set

    count me in your hard time
    i’d try to be there
    by your side

    time is tide
    light is bright
    life is brief
    death is truth
    maybe
    date is late
    but
    fate is set
    i promise to remain away
    if
    you feel
    you could be happy sans my presence

    no more game
    words are same
    present or past
    the die is cast!

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there i can forget you

trapped and chained
in the mundane rituals
of what they call responsibility
i find myself lying
against this cushion
alone

still uncertain
whether
to come out of the comfort zone
and attempt to break free
to follow
the light of liberation
that
i wish
led  me to the vacuum
— devoid of soil and soulchain-cushion
because
that’s the only resort
where
i can forget
the pleasure and the pain
that
i’ve gained
and,
you, above all

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Rainbow Holi, B&W Life

When you play Holi
with colours bright
I dance
under the rainbow of (my) plight
In this life
that is but monochromatic
and trite

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PS: I got inspired by my friend Amit Sharma’s Facebook status and borrowed the “B&W life” theme to add here.

No to fate of molten chococake

Waiting for a glutton
To be relished with appreciation
This chococake
That you baked
Remained on the plate
For an eon
Only to melt

Chococake melted down

All who were around
Wanted to take a bite or two
Before it melted down
But
Your quondam lover
Who it was meant for
Showed up never

Mute but cheesed off
With no control over the situation
When you were grimacing
I too was irresolute
Standing by your side

There and then
I vowed never to express myself
Because I don’t want to see the fate
Like that of this chococake

What is more
I don’t want to get wet
In the tears
Meant for someone else

Fellow poets on same (to)pic:
Ditee: A perfect evening
Yug zee Tah
Melt Melts Molten

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BP the great

Today is Shrawan 6. My respects to Late BP Koirala.

I am attached to him. Not only because I belong to the same clan. Also because his persona –both in politics and literature–has been kind of inspiration to me. Before I understood what BP really is, I used to say “I am the second BP.” My family members still tease me mimicking the style in which I said so in my childhood.

When I get sore throat, my voice becomes like that of BP when he was ailing from throat cancer. And, then again I am teased!

When he was breathing, I never got a chance to meet him. Had I met him, I even would not understand that time who he was. However, despite my tender age, I participated in his death procession.

Carrying me, Baba stood at the chowk just opposite of the Krishna Pauroti—waiting the procession. I saw BP’s body laid in an open lorry that was passing through different places of the city before cremation. Flowers and coconuts are the things –that I still remember– around the body. Only the face was seeable.

Bald head, grey facial hair, face turning pale and with mouth agape (I believe mouth was plugged with cotton). Again, his face had some luster.

Hundreds of people were taking part in the procession. Among them was Toyaraj Nepal, Baba’s friend. Slogans were being chanted.

JayaNepal and Bir BP Amar Rahun! I don’t remember other words now.

—————————————————————
Even after a quarter of the century of his passing away, BP’s political clout is skyhigh. None has even come to the fore to challenge his persona. His party, his disciples and his kith and kin all are cashing on BP’s name. But not all of them have abided by the principles he had put forward.

He had political vision. He was farsighted. Even now his doctrines are equally applicable to today’s Nepal. However, except lip service, the Nepali Congress has not walked in the path BP had shown. If his party in reality had followed the BP doctrine, the country would excel in democratic practices.

————————————————————–

I read BP when I was in school. Not as the part of the curriculum, though. I was interested in literature, and his works along with others’ were stashed away in Baba’s bookshelf. I read him before I understood what the heck sex and psychology are.
You can say that I got matured along with lit vintage BP.

I really adore BP as a writer. He is a great analyst of people’s mind. Despite some flaws in lingual usage, BP is superb at his works.

He was a socialist. He was a thinker. He was a politician. BP was a multidimensional personality.

——————————————————

Well, I should not forget Bishweshwor Prasad Koirala regarding my name Keshav Prasad Koirala.

I have been christened with some other name which too begins with the letter K. For general use, I was named Keshav.

Officially I was Keshav Koirala till  Grade IV. That time I  participated in the Intra- school essay competition. The occasion was none other than the silver jubilee of my school The Himalaya Vidya Mandir. I stood first. From the dais, Tirtharaj Adhikari, the Nepali teacher who was also the MC, called me for accepting the prize as Keshav Prasad Koirala.

Then after I have been Keshav Prasad Koirala, officially. (But my pen name is Keshav P Koirala when I write in English.)

My attachment to BP might have some role for accepting the long name—Keshav Prasad. However, I’ve never liked being called as KP.

——————————————————–

Bhanu Jayanti and being a Nepali

Ashadh 29, 2063 BS.

Today is 193rd Bhanu Jayanti. In fact, I realised this only in the evening. Because of the CDM pandemonium, I forgot the essence of the day. Nevertheless, my due respects to the great poet of Nepali language.

(Today I was busy on a meeting cum discussion along with the faculties of the CDM, students, the Dean of the IoST, and the office holders of the FSU of the TU vis-à-vis issue of the CDM. So I could not go to programmes organised to celebrate the birth anniversary of AadiKavi Bhanubhakta Aacharya.)

Twelve years ago, same day I was participating in a poetry competition organised by Little Angels School. I was in grade IX that time. Ranjanmani Poudyal, a radio-journo at the Kantipur FM now, was a batch senior to me. We two were sent from our school for the contest. Ranjan got consolation prize and I got a certification with appreciation. Next day, after the PT and daily prayers in the school ground, our principal Ms Savitri Singh congratulated both of us for bringing home the bacon, and announced that the school would reward us. She said she would give Ranjan 1000 bucks and me 500 bucks. I don’t know whether Ranjan got it, however, it was never given a penny.

Meanwhile, after mentioning these things, I want to be honest and go for a confession. The poem which I recited in the competition was not mine. Tirtha Raj Adhikari, our Nepali teacher who was a student of my dad, wrote it for me. Actually, the poem that I had composed, he thought, was not good enough to win an award, and indited the one for me in a night. I was reluctant to accept the poem and asked him to send his son Hemanta for the contest. Nonetheless, he said that the eligibility criteria would not be met when his son who was in grade VII would be sent, and added that he did not see any other chap in the whole school adept enough even to recite a poem.

Despite aggrandizement for the participation in the contest and appreciation by the organisers and the school, I feel sort of infelicitous because the poem was not mine. Had the poem been mine, I would be proud of myself thus far. That was the first time and the last too when a literary piece that was projected as mine was not mine.

I used to love writing poems. I have produced plethora of poems. However, these days I don’t enjoy poetry. The poet within me has died. I don’t know why.

Meanwhile, I would like to remember some of my feelings about Bhanu Jayanti and of being Nepali. Nepalis in India celebrate it as a great festival. However, for most of we Nepalis who are Nepali citizens damn care the essence of this day. A couple of years ago when I used to work for The Himalayan Times, Anjita Pradhan—a colleague who hailed from Darjeeling—was sort of shocked when she noticed the undermining of the birthday of the great poet in his birth place.

Yes this is an irony. People of Nepali origin but different nationality are proud to be Nepali. However, Nepalis with roots in Nepal but living either in the country or abroad are obsessed with a kind of an inferiority complex. Nepalis from Darjeeling and Sikkim fought for the recognition of the language in India, and they proudly say that they are Nepalis (Gurkhas). However, if you meet a Nepali from Kathmandu in India, he will hesitate to tell you that he is Nepali.

A couple of months ago when I was in Varanasi, I came across Nepalis from five countries viz; Nepal, India, Bhutan, Burma, and China (Tibet). The descent and pride factors when analysed, among them, the worst ones are from Nepal.

I don’t suggest anybody to be jingoist. However, every body should love his or her descent. Be rationally nationalist. Love your language and don’t forget your background. Love your people and country.

help!

It’s dark outside.
Minutes ago shouted sombebody “Help,” outside.
I went to my rooftop, but saw nobody. I yelled, “who is that?’. But there was no response.
Was somebody in trouble?
Or, somebody just horsing around?

By Himanshu Kaishuvam Posted in Uncategorized Tagged

Buddha Jayanti

Today (technically yesterday) was the birthday of Siddhartha Gautam who after being enllightened became Lord Gautam Buddha.

Baishak Poornima. The Fullmoon Day.

Not only was he born this day, he got enlightenment this day, preached his first sermon this day, and died this day.

I have been to two places that have been connected to Gautam Buddha– Lumbini in modern Nepal, his birthplace, and Saranatha in India, where he first preached.

UNESCO has recognised this day….

Meanwhile, I am afraid that the modern world is cashing on Buddha's name. Buddha has become only the means of money making.

If the present world takes account of the great soul, it should abide by the principle of ahimsa.

Let's give up the violence of any sort. No animal sacrifice. No killing of people for political interests.

By Himanshu Kaishuvam Posted in Uncategorized Tagged

On the eve of BS New year 2063

Today is the last day of the year 2062.

I am here in Varanasi. So I miss my families and friends backhome on the eve of the new year. 

The days are changing, but not is our attitude. I mean the attitude of we people from the third world.

When will we be wise, I question myself.

I don't know how I would explain it to you. But I will try to do that for you…. Not now, may be later. 

The east and the west….

The politics, our society, economy……….

It's sucking!

But  I feel we should be optimistic. May be, the positive thinking helps us change ourselves.

plans modified

Swami is leaving Varanasi tomorrow. He is coming to Kathmandu. He’s said that we would go to Varanasi together. So i have to wait for him..

what shall i do then?

tomorrow, i am going to chitwan. I’d already packed my bag….

By Himanshu Kaishuvam Posted in Uncategorized Tagged