Teacher at Tribhuvan University, Kathmandu. He writes poetry in English and translates widely from Nepali. He is the editor of Pratik, a literary quarterly



On the great Tibetan
salt route they meet me again
old forsaken friends…

On their faces
fatigue of a drunken sleep
their lives worn out,
their legs twisted, shaking
from carrying
illustrious flags of bleeding ascents.

Age long bells clinging
to them like festering wounds
bleating notes
of a slavery modernism brings:
cartons of iceberg, Chinese tiles, tin cans, carom boards
sacks of rice
and iodised salt from the plain of Nepal Terai.

Butterflies of
the terraced fields know their names
Singing brooks tempests
of their breathless climbs.

And time-tested, they climb
carrying dreams of peacock
of a secret religious war
of an ecologist’s sterile semen
entire kitchen
for a cocktail party at the base camp
defunct development
agenda of guilty donors
the West’s weird visions
lusting for an instant purge.

of the mountains embossed
on their drugged brains,
like lines of aborted love
on historic rocks of waterspouts.

Starry skies
of the dozing valley know
the ache
of their secret sweat.

Sunny days
along the crystal rivers know
the taste
of their bleeding eyes.

Greatest fiction
of the struggling lives lost,
like real mules
clattering their hooves on the flagstones,
in circling
the cruel grandeur
of bloodthirsty
mulepaths around the glacials of Annapurna.