They observed the ripples of Marsyangdi
and observed the greenery that flanked.
We decided in group
to write verses on those things
but I said
I spotted the blood of Sobhakanta
in the water of Marsyangdi
and in the greenery by its sides
found a garden of faith!
Standing on the bosom of Marshyangi
they talked of the cliffs
and I sought there for the faith of Sobhakanta.
They talked of the pure water
that formed the ebb of Marshyandi
while I sought in it
for the uncorrupt heart of Sobhakanta.
We were pilgrims of different tastes!
On the banks of Marshyandi,
they saw things like that
and I saw different things.
They looked through yellow jaundiced eyes
and I through blue ones.
We- travelers on the Marsyangdi bank.
They talked of the white cascades
flowing downhill,
colliding with the walls
along the side of Marsyangdi;
I found in those waterfalls
the throbbing of Sobhakanta's heart.
They talked of the green paddy
on the ridges that parted the terraces
while I found in them
the footmarks of Shobhakanta
and in each cottage I sought
for the essence
of his lean, dilapidated body!
Friends, you don't need to take me otherwise;
in this season, at this place
I cannot weave verses of greenery
nor can I sing of the silver cascades.
Though we are co-travelers on the Marshyangdi bank
we are of different tastes!
©
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem