Prakash Subedi


The Roots
You need to have
Solid, strong roots,
They said.
And I got so busy with my root
That I could never look up
And see the sky.

 

Pearls
How
long
does
it
take
for the marrow inside the oyster
to roll into a ball, and harden, and become a pearl?
How
long
does
it
take
for the young fisherman
to dive deep into the ocean, take out
a hundred oysters every day and finally smile
because there is a pearl inside one of them?
How
long
does
it
take
for him to gather
the second pearl and the third pearl
and the fourth pearl and the fifth pearl
and the hundredth pearl?
How
long
does
it
take
for him to choose the largest
and the roundest and the shiniest pearls,
drill them, put them one by one into a delicate silk thread,
and make the most beautiful necklace for the most beautiful
neck?
And, how long does it take,
O my friend,
for that thread to break
and for all the pearls to scatter
in hundred directions
never to meet again?

 

Poetry
The dull frozen day
ends into a dark frozen night.
You feel like asking:
Is there any warmth remaining in the universe?
But it's warm in this little room,
this little universe of mine.
The windows have been shut,
thick curtains have been pulled down,
warm crimson light emits from the lamp.
Sitting by the fire-place,
my arms embracing the red heat
coming off the red coal,
I close my eyes
and feel nothing but warmth.
I feel like asking:
Is there any cold remaining in the universe?
And then,
you fling open the door
hurl inside
with a gust of cold December wind
and a lump of pitch dark night
your shoes covered with ice
your hair and your eyebrows
whitened with frozen mist
your lips turned blue
your hands gone numb
so cold
you could be dead
But it's warm in here—
My warm hug is just enough
to make you feel
there's still some warmth remaining in the universe.