of everything and anything that concerns me

My heart sighs a little heartbreak
as you get up and leave
there is still a small hollow in the pillow
where you laid your head
ruffle of the sheets on the other side.
An empty tea cup from last night
the disarranged newspaper
on the bed side table
and the wet towel on the floor.
But there’s no trace of you here:
no man’s coat hung neatly in my closet
nor a shaving brush beside the toothpaste
in the bathroom closet.
No, not even flowers you could’ve brought in
as a guest…
Just this heart that knows you were here.

Like the orange sun
stepping into the threshold
of the red morning horizon,
she steps into her new home,
her new life coloured vermilion by
the new thread
he just painted on her forehead.
The autumn of her childhood long shed
their brown dead leaves and the long winter
of uncertain, restless youth, thawed
under the gentle sun of responsibility
and  melted into the spring of marriage.
Dreams of eventual comfort blossom
in her heart and her breath,
like the steady spring gale
releases and withdraws from the world
in regular rhythms.
Thousands of simple childish questions
have come undone.
The bride finds meaning in marriage.

Why do you dance?
No body beats the tabla nor strums the sitar

why do you dance?
why do your feet mimic your heartbeat
of crazy uncalculated rhythms and rhymes?

Why do you dance?
why do your lungs thunder, a coarse wild music
that swells within you but doesn’t make a sound outside?

Nobody sings to you.

why  then do you dance ?
why? with those feet firmly grounded to norms of the world
and your hand bound by the ropes of  expectations-

Nobody has untied the binds

oh why? Why do you dance at all?

… I dance because… my soul… it wills it…and I cannot deny

Some worlds don’t intersect.
In statistical terms,
they are mutually exclusive,
like a categorical and a quantitative
where you can’t run a regression.
geometric parallels,
running on opposites.
My world doesn’t merge into yours.
This in not where yellow and blue
can blend into fresh green
but where a million disjoint colors
mesh into an unnamed, untamed dark.
Like a strange bland taste of bitter salt,
tobacco and citric acid,
that taste buds cannot define.
In my world, words don’t reflect realities,
they just exist in their own dimension
in and of themselves.
My poetry  is mere abstraction
and you don’t mean what you say.

Each day I sneak in
a poem or two,
and the world feels alright.
The tangled thoughts
come undone,
and tongue tied words,
come un- knotting out.
This room of mine becomes my home
The clothes get folded,
the gets bed made,
the litter thrown out
and the linen darned.
Even a half written paper,
with careful thought, becomes complete.
This is what this passion does to me,
this sneaking of a rhyme.

All that I’ve loved is caged.
In this night of dark and silence,
I quietly rise while all slumber.
I feel my way, without a sound,
To free sociology, from its traps.
They’ve trapped it in books and papers
and bounded it with culture and geography.
That limitless, interpretable knowledge,
they’ve forced into a cultural constraint
of modern western society.
So I, without their knowing,
free it in the night.
I place upon the sociological imagination,
wings of poetry and watch it flutter and fly,
freely into the unbounded sky.

This time last year, I was in Dailekh.
Young, whimsical and madly in love,
planning plans that didn’t quite turn out.
Eventually, life screws you.
last year comes back to me so clearly.
I twisted my ankle and felt dismal
but there was still something to look forward to.
This time now was then anticipated.
This time is here and now,
but not as anticipated.
My Poetry flickers
like a candle beside a open window sill.
Passions become subject to deferred gratification.
The wild woman in me screams
she wants dreams released from the tether of realism
I am 20, mature, sensible, in proportion,
doing the right things at the right time.
Much of me has become that which I am not.
This time now I am here where I then wanted to be.

This world:
where miles are milimeters
and colors fade into black and white
and dialogues are both real and imaginary.
I see colors among crowds of beige and grey
and stop to look at the sunlight streaming
through golden half dead leaves.
I take a moment to smile
or adorn this joyous body,
so precious so valuable,
expected to slave away
for deferred gratification
I allow the wind to caress me,
and drops of rain to touch this long untouched skin
I stop to listen tot these heartbeats
that cry out, “live!” through their gentle
rhythms, “thump, thump” 
Little tunes play in my head
to celebrate each moment
and I mumble to myself
sweet nothings that mean everything
Pain falls in the fuzzy boundary of real/unreal
and happiness is so easy to conjure.
No one enters and I don’t walk out.
I live bounded in my own bubble.

Dear poker faced woman,
I dislike you immensely.
Mainly because you are
disgustingly conservative,
arrogantly judgmental
and insensitive to variation.
 I don’t see why 
you don’t understand
that it is perfectly possible for me to be myself.
You don’t need to judge me
I’ll just write another poem and shrug you off.
Call you a poker faced woman
 and relax my muscles.
By the way, 
Why don’t you read me three pages of Durkheim
and make me a sandwich while we discuss
Robert Boyle and the scientific rationality
how I can present my argument in an essay 
without sounding too much like myself 

By the way,
The law of diminishing returns states
that if you keep adding inputs to production,
the marginal product declines,
thats what the curve is about.
Thomas Malthus was a genius.
A dead economist with new ideas.
Anyway, it doesn’t matter…
what does knowledge mean anyway
when you reduce it to number
when the vast creative passion,
powerful and potent with energy 
gets bounded by a digit or two. 

Thats when I run to poetry
the visions in my head flow
to this white digital space
and the energy is released.
I exhale a long string of anger,
I forgive you for your small mindedness. 

Aja je sukai hos, basera lekchhu ani Nepalimai lekhchhu bhanera sabai kaam saam chodera lekhna basya chhu. Kati lekhna sakinchha tha chaina, herum, tara lekchhu. unicode maa kekhau ki jasto la thyo pheri , hyaa jhanjaht bhanthane. Yeso lekhdai garda ke sochna aayo bhane, colloquial arthat bolai ko Nepali maa i lekhdai chhu, kei farak pareko chaina… sabai hisab le sudhaa Nepali maa lekha khojyo bhane ta lekhna ni man lagdaina hola… SLC ko lagi lekhya jasto…haha…

Tada bhaye pachhi ghar ko yaad aaunu swabhawik ho, tara aajkaal yaad kam aaeko jasto lagna thalya chha, bani parey jasto chha… ramrai ho… yeso sochchu, gharaimaa bhako bhaye pani tyaha dherai basna man lagdaina thyo hola. Ma sadhai dekhi ko atmanivar huna chanane maanche, kasai ko bandhan pani man pardaina… kunai din eklai sano tino kaam garera baschhu… eklopan pani sarhai ramailo lagchha. Maanche haru sanga chitai birakta lagna thalchha. Sabai tyestai ho jasto lagchha, biwasta le garda aru maanche ko saath khojne. Maanchelai sabai pugne bhaye kasai ko jarurat nai pardaina thyo. mero kothaa ma sangai basne saathi samalingi ho. u sadhaiko aafni premika sanga byasta rahanchhe, aajkaal ta jhan kotaa maa sutna pani aaudina… aafu tyeti sarhai arko byakti sanga samaya bitaune bhayera hola, malai hermit arthat jogi bhanera bolauchhe. Tyeso bhanda dukha pattakai lagdaina, jhan khusi lagchha. Meera pani ta jogin nai thiyin. mero pani aafnai kisim ko bhakti chha jasto lagcha. ahile thamyaunai sakeko ta chaina tara mero pani euta lagan chha kei prati, kunai karan.

Yaha basna ta khaasai man chaina tara jiwan maa ke huncha thaha chaina. dherai choti sapana maa Hetauda dekhey… dosro patak ko hetauda visit maa jati free ra nischintit ma thiye sayad zindagi maa pheri huna garhai parla. kunai bandhan thiyena malai badhne, kaam maa hideki eeuti nidar yuwati. Sarhai mohani lagayeko thiyo hetauda le.. ghar banayera basnai man lagne gari… kunai din jaanchu pheri, ustai hudaina tara samjhanaharu farkinchan ani khusi hune bahana milchha… sayad sabai kura haru bata free huda euta aimai ekdum khusi huna sakchin…Ghumi phiri mahila adhikar ko kura maa pugchhu. Syayd feminism le malai chahine bhanda badi nai influence gareko cha. Tara yo aswikar garna milne kura hoina… a woman is happiest when she feels free from any bondage and feels one with nature…yaha pani kahile kahi tyestai azadi ko anibhav hunchha… kunai rok tok chaina… khayo sutyo, padhyo, lekhna man lageko bela lekhyo … bistarai mausam pariwartan bhairkheko tyesto anubhav garyo. lau euti dhokaa maa aayi ma gaye… thank you mero mayalu blog… mero kura sunidine eutaa matra patra… muaahhhhh… haha diary lekhya jasto…