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Pushpa R. Tuladhar
http://pushpatuladhar.purpledream.com |
A Sacrificial Heart
05/12/03 |
Rachel!
Your inner beauty can
Never hid in a bushel
By those beholding eyes,
Who recognize your pretty devoted soul
Shattered on the skin of this earth
By the speedy motion
Of an Israeli army bulldozer
That runs mercilessly over
Your young and courageous hearts
As a stout and strong human shield
To total destruction of humane human
And to tyranny of the ferocious tyrant
In the city of Rafah.
Rachel!
Not only Rafah
Even the burning sands of the sands
Shed stream of tears.
Rafah fascinates the reality
Of your blossoming beauteous mind
And moves her hands caressing
Your golden long hairs
That spread over pale colored earth
Washed by your bloody bloods.
Rachel!
You've mingled your hearts
With the hearts of the Rafah
Who shares your inner feeling
Deeply in the depths of your soul
And hides unuttered agony within its soul
Rachel! Your mind's so nice and soft
But so strong and stout
Nudges a deepest love to humane human
And an everlasting peace to humanity.
Shattered rose petals,
Withered to deep red
In the sands of the sands,
Touch the earth beneath your natured body
And feel the touch that stilled the quiet sea.
Rhythms amidst the sea
Feel the waves
Whispering against your skin
Agglutinated to the pale earth
And fade out to all eternity
To save Rafah in total turmoil.
To bow my head to you, Rachel,
The only white rose of the Sands,
You moved up to the distant bluish sky
Twinkling as a brilliant star for ever and
Beholding the only peace for all eternity,
In the green planet far beneath...
Rachel Corrie, 23, of Wasdhington DC, a US peace activist, was crushed to death by an Israeli army bulldozer, which ran over her in the town of Rafah in the Southern Gaza strip, while she and other activists tried to prevent the destruction of Palistinian homes.
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My Tranquil Dream
07/25/03
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When I grasp hold of the deep sleep
And sink soundly in the ocean of peace
With no sense on my body and
Sensibility in my mind,
My whole body is then clasped to death
As the opened cage
From where my sweet dream
Exit out and enter in
As it likes
At any time as it prefers
Roaming free-minded
In the blues of the sky,
In the fragrance of the bloom,
In the greenery of the Nature,
In the folk tales
Foretold by my grand mother,
And in the fairy tales
Fore written by my grand father.
It even conjures up a magic flying car and
Travels with Harry Potter
In the Hogwarts Express
Speeding over a magnificent viaduct.
After roaming around the planet,
My dreams come back again
To the open cage,
Which is then securely locked
Barring its way to enter in and exit out.
I wake up then from my deep sleep
And occupy in my bed stiffly yawned
Refreshing in my mind the sweet dreams
That I've forgotten and forlorn
My deeply rooted sleep
Still annoys me.
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An Old Railway Line
03/25/04 |
In the death chamber confines
The soul of my mind
Handcuffed by tragedy
Sentenced to death penalty
Just close to a blink of my eyes
With an illusionary greetings
Of long lives
Standing before me
Face to face - My death
Startled I'm like the whirl
Of the breeze on cobwebs
Hanging in every corner
Of this death chamber
Not in use for centuries
Neither I can blink my eyes
Nor breathe my breath
Asleep is the fireplace
With only ashes
Decomposed in wetted firewood
Neither the wisp of fire
Nor the glow of flame
Rusty hinges on the door
Perforated by rust
Through which holes
Smirk the gloomy bored moon
Seeking shelter for a night
A moment of unpleasant and discontent
Moans like a wild beast
Severe wounds
In inner of the minds
Moans like a cry of spasm
By unwilling sexual desire
Seduced by the enemy
In the defeated war
Echoed from the walls around
Fearing to have an ear
Will shrunk
In the emptiness of the room
At any time the electric shock
May turn the body to ashes
Only a fistful of my breath
Remaining in my body
Will hurried to rebel by
Shattering every words of my poem
Like the old railway lines
Discarded after the war
Hides its originality
In the rust and grassy grooves
Rebels of another kinds
Like the silent crater of sleeping volcano
Erupts and scatters the lava on the earth
Every word of my inner minds
That's collected in the coarse paper
Only sensed by my wounded heart
Indeed it's my poem.
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Quintessence Of Quiescent
04/09/04 |
Up the polished ceiling above my bed
In my bedroom resting for a while,
A camouflaged lizard crawls his webbed feet
With dead silence in his spider tongue
Hunting a fly nearby in languorous mood
So unconscious of to-be catastrophe
Bony spine of mine chills enough
To freeze my whole body like an ice
For the certainty of yet another calamities
Befalling on my quiet turbid heart
At any moments of my present life.
My desire to rest for a while with
My frightened and horror-stricken mind
Strives to take up its clothes of fright and horror
As if torched with mother of bomb
Runs naked towards the camera lens
With my screams frozen in frame
That unknowingly and unconsciously adheres
To the severe fading wall of my bedroom.
That portrait of mine destined to hide its reality
Sinks in time warped depth of ocean
Damped with futuristic dirt and dust
Wailing a digger to reveal the quintessence of
An embryonic present matured to rare earth
Out of an ovary of pregnant futurity.
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The Thirsty Throat
04/24/04 |
My glaring eyes sneak a look at
The clear spring waters
In the water jug (karuwa) -
The pure appearance of my face
Reflected like in the mirror
Strike against the inner surfaces
Split into bits and pieces
With dispersal of rainbow, refracts
The reality in my known face -
Shattered lives of my whole life.
Those bits and pieces of my living
Soldered together in rhymes
Frozen my poems into iceberg
Stand up firmly like snowy peak
Clear and transparent in its life
The cliched words melt into water
Flow in currents of the river and
Rest in the bed of the ocean.
The straight waterways from
The top of mountain to the ocean bed
Condensed from the veins of the nature
Passes through stones pebbles, sands and clays
Pours to the brim in water jug
The pure spring water
From the mouth of the water jug
Like the cool waterfall falls to
My thirsting throat.
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Caught In The Lens
11/14/04 |
The ebony night crawls
With its webbed feet
On my distressed mind,
To peel off my fusty clothes,
From my fatigued body,
Stinking me like the putrescence
Of my time, and of my life,
Feels me then
As light as feather
Floating up into the azure.
Before my inner eyes,
Barely exposed I'm
In my living portrait
Caught in the lens of camera
Zoomed in and out
To perfect my image
With my own personal touch
Just for hanging in the wall
Of my living room.
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Nirvana
02/15/06 |
I took my shoes off and entered
into the room of darkness
of which the shiny black satin
slipped from her shoulder
exposing the tender flesh
hungered with living passion
burning like hot red iron.
I hammered it to work out
the pattern of my poem
rhyming like the whistle of the wind
and shining like satiny moon
in the open sky at midnight.
Fearful of hurting the silence
shrouded in the dark night
by my feet, I plunged
softly as petal and lightly as air
on the darkness,
I peeled off my footprints
that glimpsed on
tender skins of her body,
but my feet burnt red.
I never mind the severe pain
for the beauty of my living
concealed in depth of darkness.
The cestrum that blooms in the night
reveals so much beauty in my eyes.
and smelts so much sweet fragrance,
but the humming of the black bee
of the death mused in my ears.
Whirled I'm through the vortex
of the darkness of the night
to let it hold me in its grasp –
My soul may never spill out of it
even like the transient light
of the shooting star sparkled
in the dark sky of the night.
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Excellence
03/01/06 |
Poetry
I chewed
Like the tasty beaten rice*
And swallowed the whole,
But the color of the ink
I'd never gulp down my throat,
It blends with saliva
In the salivated mouth
And dribbles
Out of my lips.
Following the poetry
Digested in my stomach
The poet inside me
Exploits
Again this dribbled ink
To scribble another poetry.
The inexplicable
Imageries
Really endure
The soul of this poetry.
The colors
Of my ink-stained face
Enhance an elusive excellence
In my poetry
Like the sparkling galaxy.
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My Reflection
09/30/07 |
My reflection on a lake
Floats the soothing ripples
Into my reflection
Even by the zephyr,
Also ripples into mine
In the reflection of my face
Fallen on the bottom
Of the sedate lake.
Below the lake on the bottom
Traumatized by the shadow
Of the ripples smudge
The reflection of my face
Very like mine above the lake
Inside my reflected face is
Concealed the bottom
Of tranquil lake.
The ripples that stirred
The surface of the lake
Also has my reflection
That reflects my being
Close enough to requite
Between my reflection.
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Satin
10/18/07 |
Caught alone in the clear vacuum
of the darkness pricked
by the thorn of moonless night,
I submersed into the flashes
of light that transcends from
the stars falling beyond the sky.
My journey conceals new dimension.
I stalked away
aching to explore and understand
my soul I discerned
in deep breathes of the larva
of the dainty cocoon of the light.
From cocoon I spun silk yarns,
wove the clothe and
tailored the satiny fashion
in harmony to my conceit
of appalling humanity I adored.
(wove the shawl to new fashion,
wrap my conceit
of appalling humanity I adored)
Utterly oblivious of the larva
like a split hair's breadth,
it comes off the cocoon, lifeless.
Alas!
The true soul of my own existence
fades
in the messy emptiness
of shimmering iridescent glass.
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