Oh, Subru! Hi, Humanity


                                                                — Ram Prasad Prasain


Retiring the tiresome day

He bid and told me,

Wrapping up the all conversations,

“Sir, don’t send my body to my country”


 I was in grave consciousness,

Continuously vibrates my auditory drum

“Coz, my wife has no ways to run my funeral rites and rituals”


Striking at celebrated celibacy of silence

Again, he threw another hypnotic epiphany,

“I planned to demolish my second son in the womb”

He murmured again, “He came; and he lives a living death”

“Kids were thrown into being”, Yes, I know.

To prove my masculine potency

And, her fertile blossom, “They are our ego gratifications”,

Without being asked a single question

And, again and repeatedly

Without bearing a single alternative solution


No permission was granted before their arrival

Neither were they welcomed after their emergences

Of course, “He must be an outcome of common game”

That deserves to be an end game

At the brim of the promised dream


Nurture the NATURE


Dig a pit to unplug the minds of consciousness

Cover the chasm to fortified differences

To rejoice fractions and cracks

To verify falsification

And to justify the verdict underpinning ration rather than REASON

Change the change

Change the cloths

Change the genitals

Replace a stone in your heart

It will revitalize climes and dimes

“Cultivate a willingness to change”

Foster a culture of communications

Deviate from the norms

When my grandpa was eating apples

Newton rejoiced innovative taste

His mind valley was brewing the beverages

Of consciousness and ratiocination

With the untangled labyrinths of alcoholic intoxication

 A scream in vacuum

“Walk the talk”

“Talk the talk”

The first line of defense


The sky is falling

Cloudy and misty lands unwind my spirits

As a winnow churns out the chaffs from green paddy lines

Prosperity empowers chewing gum factories

Through the optical fibers of our nerves

The retina of fragility ensures strength into the inner core of regular beats

Where the germinated seeds

Are being blooming on your bald pumpkins and gourds

Where happiness is harrowing wheel barrow of sensations

Perception is received

Uncle Rip Van Winkle

Setting fire nearby the tomb of Uncle Tom

Deeply sleeping in deep desert of monotony

Where the Sun is holding a mirror

An elegy of dead death has been engraved

At the cherry orchard of lively living alive life

Lurking latently towards the Whorfian vision of semiotic and symbolic

Eternity of lacing entirety of flux, mutability and full-fledged lovely life

 The green leaves are fluttering around us

And we stand up

We are green with greenery

We became greenery and we found blooming green buds

Wrapping up the all conversations,

I was in smoggy way of memoirs and consciousness

And, I remembered Subru,

“Sir, don’t send my body to my country”


 I was in grave consciousness,

Continuously vibrates my auditory drum

“Coz, my wife has no ways to run my funeral rites and rituals”


+3 #1 For Ram JiBinod Timsina 2013-05-06 22:57
I can see the sky how clear it is,
I can observe the star how bright is it,
I can imagine the horizon how pleasant it is,
I can feel the glow on your creation how preety is it.

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