Trails - Ii Poem by Matrika Pokharel

Ghosts are
leading the way from the front
with headlights on.
Clearing the way,
the leopards are nodding their heads
basking in the sun upon pine boles.
I loathe their path,
for, in the illusion for them
we were robbed of our dreams
and we are in a funeral procession
of our own forsaken dreams!
I can see
that to our front
a black snake raises its hood
waiting for its prey
and is managing accounts for those
who stray along wrong trails.
Those who rob children of their tiffin
do not take to broad, public routes
and those who come to procure the throne
keep a different path.
Those who return
too keep a different, worse route
on their way back after killing and plundering.
Vultures, on the top of the palace
are installing their binoculars
and are adding and slashing
inferences about the trail we keep.
When moss fills those wrong trails,
they make assaults on our trails, all of a sudden
and wage bloody war.
We must ready ourselves
for the war;
for, we must safeguard our trail
our own beloved trail!


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