Between the Walls

 

On both sides       they are,

erected           to the infinite–

W A L L S          that do not answer

so many          a question.

Their length        goes with me.

But they’re             ever the same.

Neither they corrode      nor do they fall.     

B L A C K                 is their color. 

R I D D L E,        their name.

The passage,      a river–

Oh………               I must flow!     

 

                  Flow…

            even against

                 myself.  

 

Horizon

Is the horizon… an illusion?
Or the eyes faulty?

 

That arresting
height, that expansion… that
cauldron shape upside down,
that age-long

eluding circle… still continues 
to go with me– 
to wherever I go!

 

Even today it’s heavy upon me
like it ever was.

 

Like my shadow 
or me- myself… Like my dreams 
deferred
or the unrelenting pursuit 
that I am. Like an endless
jungle of snares
or the victims trapped 
and dangling… Like the 
chaotic states

or the world I’m in… and from– 
bound by 
boarders 
after boarders, ruled by
cloud colors, smogs– fumes
in the face of 
azure sky, strokes 
upon strokes of life
and death, humanity

being raped, and humility…

undergoing humiliation, blood

and smoke spiraling, thunder…

and noise

dissolving

into nad*(nada)– here and yonder…

dismal categories
of horizons… 
are what keep on 
betraying me– once I– 
whenever I step on to

the unfurled thresholds… brought with

great sacrifices

and tender hopes…

 

Even today it’s heavy upon me
like it ever was.

 

A bird’s view– a free bird’s view–
is broader, perhaps.

——–

*Nad / Nada– the cosmic sound of AUM

 

 

About the Poet

Haris Adhikari, author of four books of poetry and translation, teaches at Kathmandu University, Nepal. He has found poetry far more helpful than human beings. He loves people of singular faces, and nature is his greatest muse and inspiration.