To my Virtual Son | Pancha Vismrit

-Pancha Vismrit

Translated by Hem Bishwakarma

How many wades of time

Have you crossed?

Dear Son, where have you reached

Stepping on your age?

 

Here I am,

Clasping your babyish hands

Kissing your soft and innocent face

In the remembrance

And, marching on the boot of responsibility

In Registan

Swaying those arms undervalued my country

To fight incessantly—

A common battle of the century

Dear Son, have you reached?

 

What hill of youth

You have been mounting?

Which sky of your dreams

You have been decorating?

What tune of your life?

You have been humming?

What whistle of the sentiment

You have been blowing?

In your sprouting nostalgic flashback

In your baby-mirror of remembrance

Do you sketch your father's face, dear Son?

 

I think your arms got stronger

A vision has been planted in your mind!

 

Here I am,

Counting the footsteps

Of the small legs that you lifted to run

A two-step distance to reach me

Touching these fingers that you caught on

While we walked somewhere

And with the celebration in memory

Of the first word you uttered

I have stayed in a dark nook of overseas

In this narrow earth

Lightening a diyo of love

Chanting the mantras

In front of the shrine of my present days

Firing the incense of newspapers of disorders

Looking at the youth's face of the nation

On muddy water in Kalasha of corrupted authority

With the virtual presence

Of the so-called tactful leaders of the country

I am laying some rice grains

I am telling the fortune

The evil has risen in the country

In my astrology.

 

Why do I see?

My virtual Son,

Cuts the throats of thousands of hope

Flings the certificates away!

Wears a combat-dress like me

And picks up a gun of workers.

 [Republished]