Pushpa Ratna Tuladhar

My shadow lives my life
With strong-mindedness;
Majestic in character and
Sophisticated in fashion
...

I
Far beyond the horizon
When the rooster sang
A song of dawn coming
...

Striking a matchstick gently
On the surface of the matchbook
For warming up the winter
Underneath the wetted wooden log
...

The beauty of the evening,
The blushing horizon in the west
I adore much the taste
Of sugary sweets blended
...

In the garden of thorns, a single rose blooms
Its petals as dark as night, its beauty consumes
A black rose, so rare and unique
A symbol of darkness, yet so mystique
...

My fingers are playing
With the keyboard of my computer
Surfing around worldly experiences
I build my home as website
...

As if the milk turns
My soul detaches from my body
My body and my soul float severally
In the surface of my life
...

When I grasp hold of the deep sleep
And sink soundly in the ocean of peace
With no sense on my body and
Sensibility in my mind,
...

Inside me blossoms a dense forest
From the roots of my body hairs,
Faster than the eternal verities of my life
Running after time,
...

Inside you’ve an earth of difference
With the ocean of clear water
The sky of the blues and
The Nature of greenery
...

Gazing intently at
Clouds in the sky of gloom
Glow with iron-hot red
As if my wounds ripe enough
...

As the daylight sinks into the darkness of night
My Shadow, who’s after me since my birth and
Keep its eye on me from morn till eve,
Fades away abruptly out of my sight and
...

Inside me and myself
Sprouts up a series of the shops
The super markets
The super stores
...

On the stone canvas
Beside the stream flowing onwards
Brushes dipping in
Each colors of the spectrum
...

Fully occupied I’m in my day-to-day affairs,
While in my office room
Like the magnet attracts iron dusts
The lower soles of my shoes
...

In the death chamber confines
The soul of my mind
Handcuffed by tragedy
Sentenced to death penalty
...

Callused skin on my body
Ruptured by the cruel nature
Like a deserted and dry riverbed
In a summer
...

The meek and mild man
Turned his heart into stone
Closed his eyes tight
And wove by his fingers
...

To obliterate the fires of terror
rekindled after the war in the deserts,
The buildings and the palaces
destroyed by the nozzles of the guns
...

The poetry from my book
abducted by the terror
to spin its rhymes
into the gust of
...