Nepal at times can remind me of the fusion of an era of horse and buggy and daguerrotypes and the modern,
But here there was no grandiloquence or pageantry of a king's coronation,
Only grimy and grotesque death, even Sherpa's sure steps faltered,
When the earth rumbled and the quake transformed this civilization into a city of tents.
The mountains tremble at the height of the world at Everest,
And below there are tears that stain Kathmandu-
Tears of Nepal and tears of the world flow like one
of the avalanches that trembles like a needle under its unbearable weight, and falls upon the tents of Sagarmatha,
bringing the bad tidings of a death angel.
I read where in just one area shops had to close, hospitals overflowed with pain,
and at the Pashupatinath Temple there were ongoing cremations;
Durbar Square in the Old City was badly damaged,
and the 200 step Dharahara Tower in Kathmandu reduced to a stump.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem