A Letter To My Motherland Nepal Poem by SANDHYA REGMI

Into migrants metamorphosed we are
Much against our inner proclivity
In the very present transcended we are
Into mere onlookers of the past.
Our countrymen we greet thee.
Name and honour in an alien country
Seemingly a distant dream
Reaching long before,
Across the seven seas
Disembarked on the hostile shore
Commuted in Bombay with crispy notes
As awfully cheap commodities.
Before we touched the dreamland of Malaysia
Beguiled without any sympathy
By our own malefactors.
On ashore once of Mauritius
Fleeced clean by marauders
Of Indian ingenious
Landed once on the dunes of Dubai
Assaulted without compassion
By our own Indian conspirators.
Slit by blades of Iraqi terrorists
None to shade tears for us.
When toiled day and night
we as menial workers.
Once we set our feet on U.K,
As typical new recruits,
Transported forthwith to confront
The bullets of the dreaded Talibans
When fortune smiles on us
Through unerring DV though,
All our paraphernalia we dispose.
And land on the shore of USA
Only to wake up in morn startled
To find life of menial labour ahead.
And the cry comes from within
To your homeland to return
which is a mirage in the desert now.
We fall prey sometimes to
Bali's bomb explosion
Or marooned at Phuket
When hell breaks loose of Sunami.
By the time we enter the camp
Of German refugees
Burnt alive by Neo Nazis.
To Hong Kong and Singapore
We toil our weary way to begin
A new life of helpless porters.
Totally incapacitated we are
With humiliation and exertion
In Japan and Korea struggling
As servile laborers.
Wiping out the beads of perspiration
On the gulfs of Arab,
we literally crumble into pieces
And go down forever.
Events of this nature if repeat
On the sublime and holy
Land of your birth
Solemnization of your last rite
Is a certainty by your kith and kin
In a dignified way.
We die here a death
Of a beast unsung,
A disreputable dissolution indeed.

We bow our heads to thee
Our countrymen and all
People of respectability.

Mother dear,
Emotionally distressed you become
And the cry of despair caused
A lump in your throat.
Tears gone dry from your eye ponds
Hearts ignited by flames
Of agony galore and body beleaguered
With fear and trepidation.
Such heartrending scenes
When mirror in our eyes,
We bleed profusely and
Cry our eyes red and
We cry our eyes out
We beseech thee,
Do not take it amiss
If there resides in the pupil of
Our eyes any love & affection
Mother dear, it is yours.
If there balances delicately
The reflection of someone's memory
On our eyelids intermittently
It is yours my dear..

Besmeared our hands
With your exuberant aroma,
we breathe our life through you.
Never in the house of God
your country lives and sure never
in the spreading scaffold,
But in work illumined with songs
Of praise and hymns.
In the open space and in the
Temples of your heart our country lives.
Your motherland remember
Is not an idol but honour
Is faith and not festivity
Your country is not lost
in labyrinth of aphorisms
Of religion and philosophy;
Is not lost in the bitter war
Of doctrines and dogmas.
It dwells in the enlightenment
Of clean thoughts and lofty ideals
Not in the magic wand of witchcraft
Of politics and diplomacy
But is alive in cordiality
Of wisdom and intelligence;
Not in pride & vanity
Of a conceited individual.

In conscience and understanding
Of men imbued with self-respect
A nation lives.
In attitudinal bearings it is
and not in geographical boundaries,
It is in blood that runs in veins
that
our motherland lives.

We are far far away
From them, Mother dear,
Who brought up on your tender laps
Destroyed your verdant forests
Sucked nectar from your bosom
Bur traded your rivers and rivulets,
You carried them on your back
They slit you throat open.
In the garb of a patriot,
A parliamentarian and a minister
They turned traitors
Struggling down-trodden are we,
And remained till the bitter end
Inordinately honest and loyal always.
Great souls we could never be
But much better are we but
Than your ill-bred descendants.
To build Taj and Sheesh mahal
with our honest earnings abroad
Never dawned on us, never.
Enough if we could build
A nice little cot
An embodiment of love
Embellish further with
a garden elegant and plant
A seedling that promises
An everlasting life and makes
You live for eternity.
To our countrymen and friends
We greet thee.

Like Lord Shiva's dance of demolition
The sad tidings we hear
How they plunged the country and caused
A total bloodshed, a diabolical destruction
Made us all cringe and moan.
We glance at the portraits
Of those people responsible
for throwing the country
Into the vortex of civil war
Sullied whose faces are with blood
Of their own kith and kin
On TV screen.
The despicable faces when we recall
who filled their coffers
Stealing priceless ancient idols,
Made mockery of nationalism and independence,
Of equality and such sensitive issues,
Our lungs burn in anguish.
It drives us insane when
From the fountain of anger
Juts out the hot blood
When we hear the cry
of hunger and poverty
emanating from their
parched lips.
When we hear leaders and demagogues
Awarded and honours bestowed
For their cheap utterances and slogans,
Empty speeches and fake assurances
Tinged with pretentious patriotism,
Our own countrymen
treating their brethren in distress
With moral turpitude,
Sights such heinous do
Torture us hard mentally.

When you witness the edifice collapsing
Of your hopes and aspirations,
Of your faith and curiosity right in front
Like a pack of cards,
Your heart breaks with unexpected thunder.
When we fail to present ourselves
To where you need us most
and when Mother dear,
We feel our life sometimes
devoid of any meaning
Utterly useless and not worthwhile
We feel our lives
Heading toward nothingness
Fast becoming the 'Gandiv'
The discarded bow of Arjun after
Lord Krishna deserted.

translated MB Pradhan