Poem by Suman Pokhrel
Heat is mounting up above the extreme point
as if it has sworn not to come down before bursting all the thermometers.
The wind is reluctant to blow toward us.
It seems to have gone somewhere with clouds for honeymoon;
that's why there is no sign of rain.
The sun's pouring down heat with all it's might,
and is forcing its constant rule cruelly upon helpless life.
Heat has broken the bond between the body and mind;
man's body has become a wetland.
The sweat has soaked the body as if by a flood.
It has failed to know a difference between the skin and the hair,
and man's thoughts have been flooded from head to feet.
The sweat has stuck to the body
the clothes I'm compelled to wear.
An actor all his life, the man
is condemning the discovery of cloth.
The windows are non-existent.
Like a government of a failed state,
the curtains are in dilemma whether to stir.
The walls are releasing heat,
as if they are angry with each other.
The room has been insaned by the heat.
The bed is inflamed as if it were an oven.
The bed sheet is soaked with sweat,
and about to run away getting stuck to the man.
The ceiling fan is helpless like a substitute office head
as the heat shows no sign of obedience to its a relentless command.
The table fan is like a positionless staff of a government office,
spinning reluctantly hearing grudges from everyone in the room.
The electric power has gone to hide in the planners' bank account.
The child is crying, unable to suckle at her mother.
The husband is pouring anger on his wife,
the anger sprangfrom his unsuccessful plan and the suffocating heat.
For his wife the outburst of anger is not as scorching as the heat.
The tar on the road is simmering
adding heat to the air that challenges people's patience.
Unable to plant crops in the field, women have gathered
under a tree for a gossip.
The youthful ox on a leash nearby is eager
to know if the women feel shy of exposing their body only in winter.
So called elite women, the secret of their body only the mirror knew,
are revealing themselves with an excuse of the sweltering heat.
Everyone'sagility and skills have stuck
to the stickiness of the sweat.
The lovers feel that they are content
looking at each other from a distance.
The repulsiveness caused by heat is between them,
more powerful than all cravings for love and lust.
The sun is busy extending its reign
and the the vanity of the heat is constantly on the rise.
Even after all that each and every being here believe
that the heat will be defeated and coolness will prevail.
The experience knows
that the rule of an autocrat cannot last long.
(translated from Nepali: Mukul Dahal)
Comments about Heat by Suman Pokhrel
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.