On His Grave... Poem by RUP POKHAREL

The moment dew gathered on hills,
Moon glittered with borrowed shine,
Pouring silver on penurious roofs-
Deceiving owls and bats over moths and fruits.
Buds opening adding aroma in aura,

Upon the silence of the night;

Mamita, a would-be mum
Thro' ajar window brought to her balls
Silvery dead meadow outside.
Mercury of her urge grew -unusually,
Ambiance of soothing quake
In her lower abdomen pick out,
Pro tem, happily sad, she was, and
Shared mild smile in vain...
With chin rested on an icy window rod
Ogled- at far woods;
Where slept her beloved few months since.
Hands caressing bumps on womb
Eyes stuck at woods...
Urge flew to Mars-

Anon;
She was on his grave.
'You see your blood bumping
I wanna bring it out here,
You hear its first cry
Keep its placenta side by.
Love it is;
That rejoices more in absence
Bears all things,
Stomachs all things.
Smell the strewn Red Rose here,
With the growth of grass over grave-
Thro' its roots my love shall caress you...
Deep dear…
Hear...!
Here cries your blood'.