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Best Poems From
BED PRAKASH BHATTA
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1.
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Her September, The 2nd
People waiting at the terminal,
with the hopes of return.
Once they enter the vehicle,
everything's going to burn.
Wonder not of the black bag,
it has got to rest.
Tears for the beloved-
and implanter's fest.
Three, two and one-
her life has gone.
She did the practical of physics,
Einstein, Otto Hahn and all.
See them handling the bomb-
at the perpetrators call.
Sad for the whole day,
and intimate at home.
Would she at such an age-
tell us her departure for tomb.
Killers!
Murderers! !
Terrorists! ! !
You all damn culprits! ! ! !
Show up your faces,
you sons of bitches.
Flash your identity-
you dwellers of ditches.
You know to shatter the skulls,
you know to crack the bones.
You know the taste of blood-
you know to murder the God!
You love to kill,
you love to make a pulp.
Whoever you are,
wherever you are.
Spit up in the sky-
and let it fall on your face.
Take a hammer,
and inser nails on your brain.
Open up the cranium-
Look! Cowdung there in has made you insane.
Her soul is somewhere nearby,
asking those terrorists-
What was her guilt?
What was her mistake?
Bed Prakash Bhatta
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2.
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A Ride Through The Forest
Darkness and silence of a forest,
three strangers.
A chirp,
two roars.
Fear ran-
In all three.
The first bald,
took a gun.
Had it six bullets,
fired five-
remained one.
The second deaf,
took a knife.
Showed his ability
and threw in the dark.
A moan,
Painful to hear-
he didn't know.
Went through the third,
Hurled a stone upwards-
was heavy,
Took him landing down.
Blood through the skull.
Searched other two,
No one in sight.
Heard the same roar,
thought of a lion.
A light in distant,
went near it.
Saw a cigarette lying nearby.
Took it,
first in hands,
then inside the lungs.
Took a long breathe,
thought he lost his anxieties.
Now the howl,
meant nothing.
Stood up,
Shouted aloud.
Threw the cigarette,
Saw his friends nearby.
Both dead,
as he read the impulse.
Got frightened,
had a book to ward off evils.
Read it,
Crossed his fingers;
as he saw a black cat passing by.
'Bread and butter, '
No bread,
No butter-
to eat.
He was hungry,
Belly wanted something.
Thought of fruits-
Saw an apple nearby-
thought of Adam.
Thought of God's denial-
Thought of God's curse.
Sat down.
wept for a while.
Stood up,
wiped out his tears.
Thought of someone,
Again saw a light nearby.
Went along its direction,
Saw a next cigarette-
Took it into the lungs.
Thought of the Alexander-
Suddenly heard the gunshot-
rather he felt the bullet.
He touched his belly,
and there was the last bullet.
Lying in his adipose-
resting as the food
which he was desiring for.
Before taking the last breathe,
Saw a black cat,
Holding a T-shirt,
written-
'STATUTORY DIRECTIVE: SMOKING IS INJURIOUS....'
Bed Prakash Bhatta
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3.
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A Short Tale
Shortened
with the physique
boast of a hell.
A culprit
An offender
Hang it!
Hang!
Hang till death.
respect
isn't its entity
pride it bears.
A shit of no where
A blunt one
Force it!
Force!
Force till it pleads.
Tale
from nowhere
masterpiece be it called.
A preacher of oil
A lubricant
Use it!
Use!
Use till it hallucinates.
Coming
dearly to it
a tremor terminates.
An outwitted
A sarcastic
Dump it!
Dump!
Dump till it becomes a garbage.
Bed Prakash Bhatta
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4.
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ALL IN A NIGHT...
Death, has the passerby, love his moments-
But they aren't for long.
Wealth, jewels and his all garments-
For one day, they'll all be gone.
Beneath his bed, lies a pocket radio, and that is small-
But he wouldn't be able to hear it.
As the mightiest forwarded a call,
The body can't even wait a bit.
Beside his body, no one lies; for he has no belongings-
But he would face the situation.
He didn't earn friendship from his spendings-
And now no one cares for his cremation.
In the wall, is hung, the picture of Monalisa; quiet, smiling.
But he would make no smile.
For his life has been piled up; is now piling,
And for now, he has to make a bitter exile.
Laughed, along the sea; the tides went along-
But he drew out the tears.
The mighty's bliss with the painful song,
As for death, who now fears.
Bed Prakash Bhatta
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