मेरो जिब्रो एउटा उपनिवेश
जहाँ
मलाई पूर्वजहरुसँग जोड्ने
मेरो मुटुको भाषालाई
विस्थापित गरेर
आधिपत्य जमायो
बाँच्नको लागि चाहिने भाषाले
हाम्रा कथाहरु दबाउँदै
हाम्रा स्मृतिका पानाहरु मेटाउँदै
आगन्तुक शब्दका आवाजले
जरा गाडे मेरो बाल मस्तिस्कमा
अनि, लज्जित बनायो
आदेश अनुसार बटारिन नमान्ने जिब्रोले
गलत, अप्रासंगिक शब्द फुत्किने डरले
मुटुमा रातदिन राज गर्यो…

Every year,
monsoon winds arrive, soaking
the dusty, parched valley floor
faraway, hills tumble down to meet the river
outside, the galli becomes a rivulet
inside, the family of three start
their annual rain dance of
carefully choreographed steps
with pots and pans and old paint cans
placing them here, there, everywhere
moving them, again and again
to catch the heavenfall
in…
Rush back from school in the afternoon.
Throw bookbag to a corner. Eat a snack.
Sit cross legged on the floor across from Mother.
Fold old magazines into rectangles, big and small.
Brush over homemade rice glue on the sides. Fold.
Voila! Paper bags to hold sugar, beans, eggs, more.
…

Looking down from the perch in Swayambhu
where tourists jostle with the locals for the view,
you see a multi-headed hydra
sprinting towards layers of
emerald hills guarding Kathmandu valley and the jagged
diamond peaks beyond, gobbling up
gold green fields along the way, guzzling
aquamarine ponds and lakes, spitting out
silver slivers of asphalt that crisscross
rivers’…
“Modernize!” They told us when we were young
Don’t wallow in old wives’ tales, antiquated norms
Don’t use what you have in gardens, in your own homes
“Buy. Buy. Buy.” They said and we all went along
After we lost our elders’ knowledge, our grandparents’ way
They are teaching us the…