In the morning, veiled by specks of dust

- Nabin Chitrakar

In the morning, veiled by specks of dust


Standing still

At the body of canvas

Staring, amid vulture clutches

An immature rose

Torn to pieces

Scattered on the floor

A prickly thorn, full up cuts

Dazzling horns of dynastinae 

An unprotected year

Restlessly rushing

To enfold the rainbow

An image

Of the morning, enveloping clouds of dust

 

Coated with glittery beams, of tears

The room, devoid of outlets

Voices, showering coughs

Though depreciated, self

The concern, of not spreading joy

Deadly scattered, everywhere, on the floor

The stumps of cigarettes

The phantom smell

A deadly morning

Of a premature tragedy.

 

A tranquil trail

Restless breaths

Stars, glowing abnormal smiles

Knock-on the doors

Sleeping ears, as a deaf

As fatal tremors

Shaking mind and eyes

Voiceless breaths

Pandemic, visiting everywhere

The disease of fear

An illusion

For a while.

( Originally written in Nepalbhasha by Nabin Chitrakar, the poem has been translated to English by Sylvia Razopadhyay)