A blind on the revolving chair

Composed by: Bhupi Serchan

Translated by: Raj K Pandey, MBS, MA

Fleeing sleepy on own emptiness like a dry bamboo for whole day;
Fleeing guilty for whole day, and hurting to the chest by own chops exactly like
the activity of the sick pigeon;
And, scratching the wounds for whole day!

Crying slowly due to the deep-rooted and unexpressed sadness at an aloof pine
forest;
Exactly like a folio-mushroom in a far distance between the enormous earth and
sky;
Burying own’s legs in a small narrow place;
Protecting self through a small umbrella;

At evening
When Nepal turns into Kathmandu;
Kathmandu converts into New road; and
New road lies under the feet of enormous pedestrians;
It divides and becomes shops of the newspapers, tea and coffee.

Diversified noises keep on in-and-out in the different outfits;

Newspapers walkout exactly like a recently egg hatched hen;
And, it rides in the dark perambulator paths at different places;
Scared due to the lights of the running vehicles;
And, I wake-up due to the fear of bites of the several bees and their humming.

I wake-up exactly like a divine soul on the day of the final justice;
And, not achieving forgotten ‘lethe’ river;
I dived into the glass of wine.

And, completely forgot my previous story;

Previous life and death.
On this way, always, a sun rises through a tea kettle;
And, sun sets on the empty wine-glass, daily.

The earth, where I am living, is revolving as usual;

Merely, I am totally unknown with the surrounding changes, panoramic views and
enjoyment;
Exactly like a blind man, sitting by force on the revolving chair, which is kept on
the exhibition.