My Country could not be Springtide | Hem Bishwakarma

-Hem Bishwakarma

Translated by poet himself.

Crawling from the east

Catching a shawl of a hill

The sun had to wave its red hands

Along the kitchen, courtyard and turmeric plants

The rainbow had to spread

Over my country's map

The age of the sun needed to mount

But my country could not be springtide

 

The sprouts had to cling to banyan tree

The jests of farm-workers had to be penned

The morning like a cuckoo had to appear

The green Sindur had to fall on the lawn's hair-parting

 

However,

This time too

A handful of an old-age was left on a terrace

The kitchen garden fruited only some green passports

The cold dropped off quivering the pigeon's hearts

My country could not be springtide.

 

I had a wish that

The flowers would sing in a single melody

A deep-slept cloud would awake for a moment

Fireflies would glossily illuminate as hopes do

The opportunities will fruit on jackfruit trees

 

But I am sorry,

This time

My country could not be springtide.