Suman Pokhrel

Freshman - 770 Points (September 21,1967 / Biratnagar, Nepal)

Standing In A Market - Poem by Suman Pokhrel

Lost in its maze
Buried in its sound
I'm reading this market-
Listening to its crescendo.

-How much is this cock?
-No, I'm not going
-Come, what may!
-Oh, look at the other side!
-Yesterday morning, that is.
-Oh, how did you gain such weight?

This market
Surging with sound of stream
Slogged by monsoon rain
Paints its picture
With each stroke of speech.

But doesn't know its own face
This melee
Does not recognize its own picture
This hectic rush-
Only speaks relentlessly.

Addressing oneself—
-Move a little, will you?
-Across the river.
-Three hundred and twenty.
-Not sure, you know.
-Same place of last year
-Oh, from tomorrow.
-Who with?
-Where did you sleep?
-This is fresh from our garden.

You may collect a bagful seeds of poetry
By picking up these words.
Life may be climbing rungs of ladder
Stepping on each sentence here
But
Words caught in the competition of
Selling troubles and buying dreams
Even ignore changing colours
Climbing on their faces.

Only keep repeating
Their own dialogues
Never imagined before.

-Let us sit here a while.
-What kind of a man is this!
-Should have a look once.
-Where from?
-Oh, how can that be possible?
-Hot water?
-What did she look like?
-No, not everywhere.
-What time to go?
-Over the log.

Voices lost in pursuits
Of their own interests
Create their own music and return
Carrying each a melody of life.

-There's absolutely nothing today.
-I guess that's a little too expensive!
-Oh, so tired!
-Last time also it was like that.
-Forget about the tea.
-In the next house.

Do you think we can read out to the market
An easy poem composed out of itself?
Will it be possible to explain
The pictures to the market
Carved over the sky of its dreams?
Could we enrapture the market
By the symphony
Composed from its cries and mirth?

This market speaking life
When heard from each person
Is now making staggering confused noise
Of all people speaking together.

Pristine river of lives
Is swallowed by the crowd-
Human getting lost into humans.

Man and woman cease to be humans
Once they get lost into crowds.

Is market like people
Who live as humans when they're alone
But live as great complexity
When they're in groups?


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< br>(Translated from Nepali by Abhi Subedi)
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Note: This poem is included in syllabus of language and literature studies at Tribhuvan University, Nepal.

Topic(s) of this poem: human being, life, people, politics


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Poem Submitted: Thursday, November 27, 2014

Poem Edited: Sunday, September 16, 2018


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