|
|
|
Best Poems From
BED PRAKASH BHATTA
|
|
| |
|
|
13.
|
Remains Of A Remembrance
It moved,
as if it was alive.
The wind swept the body-
into the ocean.
Corals attached to it,
and sea anemones all around.
It was kissed by the starfish-
and loved by the octopuses.
Hammer heads rinsing their jaws,
dolphins surrounding its periphery.
It was at the ocean bed-
with its eyes closed.
It was intact,
saving its mouth.
Which was squeezed-
and thoroughly bleeding.
It had null oxygen demand,
as it had turned blue.
Muscles were being snatched-
and the cranium desired to flow.
The divers went deep,
and found it.
It had one closed fist-
and that had a lot to tell.
There it was-
the image of its beloved.
She was smiling-
at such a condition.
She never loved it,
and even if she loved-
that was her terrible mistake,
a mistake of the long past.
All at an instant,
its eyes opened.
It smiled-
and played with the fairies.
Bed Prakash Bhatta
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
14.
|
Speaking Hiroshima And Nagasaki
A stray matter,
ruined two lives.
A suicide-bomber,
blew the Sunni tribes.
A night when,
plans were being finalised.
Two innocents loked over the border,
and they saw the thunder
wnich was hurling
hurrying at its pace-
and suddenly the air was the nightmare.
But,
as the night grew
up, up and above;
a star died halfway in the galaxy
and it merged into the source.
Viewed the time,
was the new morning-
but there was darkness;
there was mourning,
there was disgust,
there was the captive being beheaded.
Listened off Palestine,
listened off Israel;
listened off the Gulf.
Searched the Alps of devotion-
I only found Tethes and the 'wonder stone.'
The path we desire,
is it the new beginning?
is it the 'everentiation? '
is it the 'shift of amoeboid? '
Have we the associations
and the grand ones.
Have we the third generation-
and the sustainable plans.
Some shrines are blown,
some mosques are withered.
Some temples meet the ruins;
Churches speak the same.
Apes,
teach us the lesson-
Neanderthals, Ramapithecus and all;
make us the Homo sapiens.
Bed Prakash Bhatta
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
15.
|
The Murder
Eyebrows,
moving swiftly
with the crushed heart.
When gently confessed;
Murderer the nearby weapon,
Blood spilled all over.
Trigger that at hallucinating temple
was it all
That assume everyone.
-since-
everyone assumed that.
All it was,
temple hallucinating at that trigger-
all over spilled blood.
Weapon nearby the murderer;
Confessed gently when-
heart crushed with,
swiftly moving
eyebrows.
Bed Prakash Bhatta
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
16.
|
The Shining Village
A lake in the middle,
with inhabitants hundred.
A way through the forests-
with land mines all around.
Some day people realize,
one of their kins is missing.
They trace the footprints of the child-
and find portions of his clothing.
The land mine,
he stepped on.
Blew him apart-
and separated his body.
Catherine and Hameed,
studied at a same school.
But they had a dispute over a tiny matter-
and that was enough for young minds to separate.
Catherine left school,
and Hameed went to the forests.
That was when-
he stepped on that terrible thing.
His leg was there,
and rest was grinded.
His life has gone-
and the village hasn't yet shone.
Bed Prakash Bhatta
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|