Nepali Poems in Translation Volume-I

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Acknowledgement I would like to acknowledge to the poets for providing their poems and talking with me frequently during translation. I would like to express my gratitude to my guru Mr. Ramji Timalsina, Ph. D., who always charges me with the enthusiasms. My sincere thanks go to Mrs. Sangita Swechcha, Ph. D. for her support and guidance. My gratitude goes to the readers who always are the source of inspiration. 1|Page

Foreword Translation is not an easy job, and the toughest, I guess, of all is poetry. However, this is a must-have demand of time. As English is a global language and widely used as means of communication, education, technology etc., being a large number of readers, the home literature should be rendered so that the readers all over the world with diverse languages will have a privilege to read. While translating, I have had trouble in different levels. Sometimes, I was stuck at bringing the real Nepali cultural nuances and its flavor to English. At times, the morphological trouble let me, and most probably to all the translators, down. And more often, complexity is, to go deep down to the poets' psyche and pluck the substantial views. However, I have attempted my best not to destroy the originality and speak in the sweetest tone. We welcome feedback from the readers that would steer us to the right lane since this is our first experience. Thank you! Happy Reading! Hem Bishwakarma Itahari, Nepal 9/14/2020 2|Page

1. Maichyangs1 in a Black Hole Bina Theeng Tamang (b.1980) is a Nepali writer from Kathmandu Nepal. She is an awardee of national and international awards. She has three books to her credit. Her latest book published is 'Yambunera, an anthology of stories.' To wake up with birds To sing bird's song To run a Marathon to water tap To grind the fortune in a grinding-stone Or, husk themselves persistently On a mortar of grief All are the routine of Maichyangs Maichyangs breastfeed to their children Not the milk— the blood Sturdy their thighs But wither and slender they Tangle their bones to a ghum2 1 A young lady in Tamang language 2 A covering made of bamboo strips and leaves 3|Page

That covers them in the monsoon- While plantation into tears As if the tears are soft mud Tears are sharp enough That they use to cut grass Collect firewoods Tears are the palms That they use to clean up the dunghill And rinse their anxiety For the years, They tuned the primitive note And played the Damphu3 Chorused the Selo4 Visited to the bazaar of their body And walked nonstop in search of a luminosity They still walk 3 A hand-drum played by Tamang 4 A Tamang song 4|Page

Yet, I want to ask Why does not appear The line of prosperity On the palms of Maichyangs? Why does not appear apparent A canal of contentment? This all are broken on their hands As if they are fragmented With the relatives while walking And they happened to reach a cliff While growing the chock; shoots sprout Catching the fringe of chock- life Maichayangs ready passports Strive for the visas Then reach to a black hole Where the dreamers reach Then disappear to its dark. 5|Page

2. A Lesson Roshan Pariyar (b. 1981) is a Nepali writer from Dhankuta, Nepal. He mostly writes poems. Many readers like his debut anthology of poems, 'Siyoko Durbin'. His poems speak a loud tone of life and society. Form your heart the scissors That persistently cuts and breaks into pieces Wrap a rose around a needle Insert the yarn of pains and hurts Then, Stitch steadily To the frayed life On the sewing machine of serenity The pains will taste awesome While they begin to pain. 6|Page

3. A Rock Bianaya Sargam (b. 1996) is a Nepali poet from Itahari, Nepal. He mostly writes poems. His poem represents the poem written in his contemporaries. Speaking I am silently- just silently Perhaps, you could not hear The silence inside me Yes, I am a rock! Walk; you walk on Striding on my chest Walk a couple of lovebirds hand in hand Teach the baby feet To walk on me Walk breaking/ striding on me For I am a rock! I have a pair of stone eyes A pair of stone ears 7|Page

A stone voice But, I don't have the eyes That would weigh the beauty! Yell, speak or sing, As I do not have ears to heed! I do not have the voices to revolt For I am a rock! I have changed my forms When you came; For instance, After your touch, I became a trust— A God, indeed! After your carving, I became a sculpture After you stacked me up I became a house, and a wall I became a defense And on occasion a weapon After you formed me ! Perhaps you think 8|Page

That I am a rock- A silent empire! Neither the needles of clock Rounds for me So that I am totally quite Yes, I am a rock- and I speak My voices—silent, just silent If you happened to heed it I can turn into whatever you unsought! 9|Page

4. Cheers, Marx! Alisha Ekalas (b. 1995) is a Nepali poet from Kathmandu, Nepal. She writes on social and personal issues. Her poems represent her contemporaries. Nothing has happened! Wandering around the hospital yard The drape of life fell Then, froze The feverish body Nothing has happened! Before knowing That life is transient Sada5 waved his hand forever From his birth 5 Sambhu Sada, 23 a Musahar man who had in-custody death. 10 | P a g e

He will not wander At heaven Seeking for a jivanjal, an ORS Nothing has happened! Just assaulted on vagina In the authority-directed Oh, Sorry! Authority-operated Quarantine Neither the neck is pressed As such to Nirmala6 Nothing has really happened! Dear Marx, Your disciples Became an opium 6 A girl aged 17. She was gang-raped, and killed brutally and thrown in a sugarcane field. 11 | P a g e

He will bell The bell of Golden Rule Tong! Tong!! Tong!!! We shall look From the divine state—heaven Together How is that a proletarian revolution? If proletariats are no longer left Cheers, Marx! Proletariats are liberated! The Freedom is in the religion Also exists in your philosophy! 12 | P a g e

5. The Equidistant Manoj Muskil (b. 1997) is a Nepali poet from Biratnagar, Nepal. His poems are well known for having the deep insights among his contemporaries. A sound resonates at midnight, Ripples and spreads Something is dripping! The drunkard wind along the road Has not boisterously walked The hands of time Do not meet one another That they plunged into An eternal journey together The unconscious murky is still in a shock Not waked up yet The sound no longer can Remember its sound The sight no longer can 13 | P a g e

Find its lost address The consciousness can no longer Recognize its realization Something has happened- Something mishap Some are tranquil yet, at rest Something is unsteady, yet dynamic Something is usual, yet absurd Something is dripping, for sure That withers so gently And waves to every element As water trickles steadily From the roof of a fossil-grave Something is dripping! As the cocktail of blood and semen Streaming from the raped vagina So brutal, 14 | P a g e

Something is dripping! As the drop of motherland trickles From the chest of a brave soldier In the borders; Something is dripping From the time, the age From the palm, the water From the hug, the love From the eternity, the universe Planet, satellite and particles Something is dripping, for sure! A chest—the tomb of love and triumph Broken and daubed in mud An eye—a slaughterhouse of tears and dream That reflects into another eye! A face—scorched with own fingernails 15 | P a g e

A throat—pressed by own hands A bald—deserted with own fingers A heart—stridden by own feet Yet, all the sights, visions and perceptions Agitated—facing one another Yet, all the happen and phenomena Wordless, worded! Right now, Unawares waked up from own laid body Someone is whispering, Something is dripping, See above from the upper storey Something is dripping like you! 16 | P a g e

6. A Mountain Hem Bishwakarma (b. 1991) is a translator and writer from Bhojpur, Nepal. He is a Nepali-English translator. He has many translations of poetry and short fictions published in national and international online magazines and journals. There is a mountain Who always plays a green flute She groove the melody of trees And sings a melancholic song for the valley A powerful poem she recites On his old-aged narration! Sometimes, she wails So melts the rock—as a heart The more, while the night of rainfall The laborers of life Take a swim and douche Quench the wrath of thirst In a pond of mountain-tears 17 | P a g e

The weather flies for foreign Ejaculating colorful semen The mountain nurtures her daughters With a lot of love and devotion The seasons like rapist persistently Assaults the daughters and destroys Usually, the mountain endures The landslide of her own heart broken However, she retains the moon-fruiting sky The green flute withstands, yet! Somewhere, The mountain remains plunged into pains In fact, the mountain has a giant heart! 18 | P a g e

About Translator Hem Bishwakarma is an emerging Nepali-English translator from Itahari, Nepal. His translations are published in different national and international portals. He mostly translates poetries and short fictions. He can be reached at [email protected]. All rights reserved (2020). No copies or part of this document should reproduce in any form without consent. 19 | P a g e