Suraj Parajuli

Translated from Nepali by Hem Bishwakarma

 

While going,

You forgot to take away

The test of soya-pumpkin curry

The bell at the wooden temple

Remembers your tune

Diyo—to your lustre

And remembers ‘the’ God

Your hymns and chants

 

Our photo was removed

From the wall

And left only, foul spots all over the frame

Where the eyes of home including mine espy on

And our hearts pour in an incessant pain

 

The slippers in the bathroom still hold

The scale of your footprint

Possibly you carried the savour

Off the kitchen spice-jars

Your tender touch is left

Somewhere in the cupboard

Though, your aroma is not lost

From the bed and my body

The Sindur was closed back

On the casket from your hair parting

The bangles still jingle

At the ears of the sitting-room

Your hair might feel my fingers

With the tea, you might call,

‘Gundu, your tea is ready!’

After the cosmetics, your beauty might seek

My admiration!

 

My sleep–lost somewhere in that hug

You erased the I after your name

While going,

You took me leaving yourself

 

To separate is death before the death

Where the soul and the body separate in the crash of love

 

Built with tiny molecules of love and trust

Our love had pores,

Ow! We had our divorce.

 

Suraj Parajuli is a poet and writer. He writes in Hima Darpan