Freedom

Do the deeds have meaning?

If I laze around,

 read poetry

watch movies

scroll through 

    Instagram posts

sip coffee and

listen to music and books,

do deeds create good karma?

Deeds with no desire and no fear.

No attachment to the paycheck,

except perhaps the guilt

    of lack thereof.

Does the guilt alone take away

 the goodness of it?

Does freedom need an anchor?

Search

A honey bee

Flies away

In search of

Nectar sweet,

while ants feast

On the trail

Of bread crumbs.

Perception

All my tenable thoughts are somewhat shaky;
they hide behind the grandeur of my misleading edifices.
When my mind takes a respite from these crowded thoughts,
only then my truth resonates with the non-judgmental perception I make.

Chhunumunu Song

Later half of my Saturday was spent putting together the song I have embedded here in this post. First I struggled with writing words for a simple tune I had composed a while back. My wife helped me out quite a bit. Coming up with the song sequence was quite a challenge as I'm not a gifted song writer by any means. I dabbled with Garageband in a very simple one track acoustic mode to record it. Creating a simple video in iMovie using some of my own pictures I've taken over time was a fun process as well. 

I know if you want to, you can criticize the song left and right, but it's a special song for me and I hope you'll find things to appreciate as well.

Enjoy!!!

Hello By a Local Artist

Walking around in country club plaza, we sat down on a bench and enjoyed this artist perform several songs. Wanted to share one of the songs I took time to record on my iPhone. Enjoy ---

KC Local Band Street Jam Up

We were taking a walk and saw a local band named "Ernie James Zyloc" (I might not have it totally right) performing on the streets. Here's a video of one of their performances.

The Prodigal Poem

By Glen North

This poem is unwanted.

This poem is illegitimate.

This poem was an accident...

I didn't mean to write it!

Yes, I let my pen touch the pad

but I was just scribbling,

just doodling

just playing around with it

like so many other poets before me.

See, I thought the paper

was on the pill

so I didn't use any protection

no correction tape

no white out

no eraser...

I wanted to have it aborted

but by the time

I had saved up enough loot

it had already reached its 3rd stanza.

The paper won't consent

to an ink test

so I'm not claiming it...

However, I see it hanging out

in the hood sometimes...

This poem lets its words sag

so you can see its behind.

This poem wasn't raised right

so it can barely even rhyme.

This poem hangs out with weed papers

and it drinks too much wine.

This poem will be dead before it reaches its 21st line-

crumpled up in some waste basket

by a suicide letter

or tragically executed by

a heartless paper shredder.

At the very least,

it will end up locked behind the bars

of some legal pad

it will be too late then

to blame it on Dad (whoever that may be).

No, this poem won't end happily

it has already lost touch with reality

heavily influenced by MTV,

it's caught up in some hip hop fantasy

it denies the genre in which it belongs

this poem thinks that it's a rap song:

"P to the izz O

E to the izz M

that's the anthem

get all your hands up."

This poem will never be published

revised or anthologized.

This poem will never reside on a library shelf

because this poem is illiterate

it can't even read itself.

This poem could never be a love poem.

It's too busy trying to be a 

let-me-lick-you-up-and-down

till-you-say-stop-mack-daddy poem

but countless careless encounters

have made it a

that's-just-my-baby's-daddy poem

and it has left fatherless verses

in journals and notebooks all over town

with each passing line,

it sinks further down.

Job, Psalm, Proverbs

and not just these

but Ecclesiastes

and Song of Solomon

yearned for this poem

to follow them.

These prophetic poems

that foretold of the coming Messiah

and the glory of the New Jerusalem

reached out to this poem,

prayed for this poem,

loved this poem,

but some poems

just don't want to be saved,

they just crash and burn

at the bottom of the page.

Aakasaima

Chhaina kehi ni chhaina

I found this song/video on dalbhattarkari blog and really liked it. Just wanted to share!!


"Chaina" - Albatross from Anya Vaverko on Vimeo.

Ah! well a-day ! what evil looks
Had I from old and young !
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung.

बनेको छ पहराले = Baneko cha Paharale Translation

Made of rock is this heart of mine

Cataract nestles through this bloodstream of mine.

Born on a hill,

Played on the peaks,

I'm a proud and unbowed son of Nepal.

Snatched roti cannot feed my hunger

Begged clothes won't make me feel covered

Let these hands wear away, let my fingers fall off,

But I simply refuse to beg for a dollar.

I can endure fire but not injustice

I can contain desire but not prejudice

I'd rather have my head cut off

But I can't endure my sovereignty under siege.

Made of rock is this heart of mine

Cataract nestles through this bloodstream of mine.

Born on a hill,

Played on the peaks,

I'm a proud and unbowed son of Nepal.

Gopal Yonjon

Original Words:

बनेको छ पहराले यो छाती मेरो, 

बगेको छ छहरा रगतमा मेरो,

पखेरुमा जन्मे,

टाकुरामा खेल्ने,

म झुक्दै नझुक्ने नेपालको छोरो

खोसेको रोटीले मेरो पेट भरिन्न,

मागेको धोतिले मेरो लाज् छोपिन्न।

घोटिएर हात-पात झरिजाउन औला,

तर कोई अगाडि यी हात जोडिन्न।

बनेको छ पहराले यो छाती मेरो, 

बगेको छ छहरा रगतमा मेरो

पखेरुमा जन्मे,

टाकुरामा खेल्ने,

म झुक्दै नझुक्ने नेपालको छोरो

म आगो सहन्छु, अन्याय सहन्न,

म त्रिश्ना सहन्छु, तिरश्कार सहन्न।

मेरो सिर उडाउ, बरु त्यो सहन्छु,

तर कोई परायाले टेके सहन्न।

बनेको छ पहराले यो छाती मेरो, 

बगेको छ छहरा रगतमा मेरो

पखेरुमा जन्मे,

टाकुरामा खेल्ने,

म झुक्दै नझुक्ने नेपालको छोरो

Khol Translation: Cover

-original words by Bhairab Aryal
-translation by Prayash Nepali

A clean white sheet

Reference site

on a hospital bed
first makes a new patient giddy
As she feels the fabric
as if her fingers will stain it,
Oh so soft, so delicate
Like a home bed made ready

But as she tosses and turns
the sheet slips here and there,
the patient takes notice
beneath the covering layer.

Inside those dry clean cover
under that clean white sheet
lie blankets, mattress, numerous rags,
piling on from centuries
Eew! one could almost see the stench
Stains of pus and blood
The more you take notice,
the grosser it becomes
Only after seeing the side
rotting with faecal matter
Will she realize the inner secret
the bed's shine and grandeur is only a cover
She grits her teeth and screams
tearing apart the covering layer
Oh you, how long will you value life
based on cover and only cover.

The doctor holds the wrist
and declares insanity
Then the half smiling nurse brings out
the colorful liquid of remedy

Yesai Gari Bitaidinchu (Translated)

Narayan Gopal

Note: this is my translation, original words are in Nepali and are not my own.

Just like this will I live my two day life
I'll let laughter take a loot while I drown in tears
Just like this will I live my two day life

I'll make myself disappear in this throng
Forget myself, I'll lose consciousness
Or hide somewhere here and cry quietly

I'll let laughter take a loot while I drown in tears
Just like this will I live my two day life

I'll tear myself, scold myself at night
Hurl myself in the middle of the days
Sing my own song while I swallow myself

I'll let laughter take a loot while I drown in tears
Just like this will I live my two day life

Lolayeka (Translated)

- original Nepali words by MBB Shah, sung by Ghulam Ali
- translation by Prayash

A look with those big dreamy eyes,

And I won’t need anything else.

I want to be the fortunate ring of your hand, feel your touch,

And I won’t need anything else.

Your pretty face makes the moon blush; I want to see it for a moment,

And I won’t need anything else.

Those big dreamy eyes…

I want to be the ghada* full of water next to your shapely waistline,

And I won’t need anything else.

I want the shades of your hair as dark as Bhadau’s** rainclouds,

And I won’t need anything else.

A look with those big dreamy eyes,

And I won’t need anything else.

*Ghada is a type of bucket or container used to carry and hold water.

**Bhadau is a month in Nepali calendar and it falls sometime during August and September

Regret

-Prayash


When it's over, it's over.

Reference Website

Like a drop that hits the floor,
spilled into a circular patch
turns into an ugly water mark.
Alas, it's the same drop
that shone so bright
and dropped so animatedly.
When it's gone, it's gone.
Like a man who is in haste.
All thinking comes to a halt,
passion overshadows brain.
Mere knowing doesn't stop action.
All that remains is regret then.

Roses are waiting

Ref: http://davidnaylor.org

Last night, she was here.
I was trying to smell her in my clothes.
She said she's coming the next day.
So I got red roses and walked through the frost.
I covered her roses for they might wilt,
And poured lotion on my skin to feel her touch.
I waited.
"Hello," I said.
"Tomorrow, may be," she answered.
Roses are waiting.