चि SS सो गर्भ

(राधिका बहिनी प्रति)

भि SS त्र—
कतै चेप्टिएर
धावा बोल्दा माटोको आकाशले
कान्छी बहिनी बितिन्
जसरी हामी निसास्सिँदै छौँ आज
रातो- कालो रङ्गहरुको माझमा
चि SS सो शून्यताका नङ्ग्राहरु बीच

सम्झन्छु—
उनको कलिलो घामजस्तो अनुहार
र त्यसबाट आउने
जूनकै जस्तो मुस्कान
बिर्सनै सक्दिन
शीतल वतासजस्तो उनको मन
र आँधीजस्तो थामिनसक्नु उनको हठी स्वभाव

अन्तिम पटक
सम्झिएकी थिइन् होला बिचरीले
त्यो भित्ताको
रात्माटे ओडारभित्र चिसिँदै जाँदा
हामी सबैका अनुहार— किरिङ्मिरिङ्
बटारिएका जराहरुको गन्धले—
आमाको गर्भ, र गर्भभित्रकी उनी ।

खैर,
जीवनले उनलाई
भ्रुण छँदै किच्यायो
र अपराधी बन्यो जीवन— हामी सबैको ।
त्यसपछि नै त हो— आमाले होस गुमाएको—
रुँदारुँदै हाँस्न, र हाँस्दाहाँस्दै
रुँन थालेको— एकलासमा
बु SS डो आँशु झार्दै—
देख्ने- सुन्ने सबैका निम्ति
एउटा नमिठो, अनुत्तरित प्रश्न बनेर ।

He Said: You Just Saw What I Earned!

Seated on a pavement near New Road was an untidy old sketch maker. There lay some fine sketches beside him and a crowd of people had circled him. He was an interesting fellow for them, I guessed, and he was.

By then, a lady had come to the front holding a little girl by the hand. The lady looked grand in her shining jewels: her calf sized earrings hung down to her shoulders, her beads long and mosaic flowed down upon her T–shirt white, her exotic bangles sought attention, and her fingers were tightened with engraved and expensive stone rings. Her stylized cascading hair swung very often and she made her hair—now and then—giving a smart look. Her make-up so heavy, her dress-up so tidal and transparent, she spawned awkward smiles on eyes and lips there. And all the while she just wore a supercilious mask.

Her daughter showed keen interest in the man’s work and she surveyed all the sketches so intently. The artist asked the girl if she also wanted to be sketched. She looked up to her mother and the mother said, "You want to?"And just a little nod came with a bright smile from her face. “OK", said her mother, and then began this ridiculous story.

What amazed me were the sketch maker’s deft strokes, and the curious stillness of the girl. His drawing was a carbon copy of her. So I couldn’t resist myself and stood and gazed at his swift hands. I wondered what this fellow was doing over there –and a thought ran in my mind: he deserves to work somewhere making sketches for books or comics or for some other stuff—he is a real talent.

When it was over, he gave it to the little girl, smiling. Her eyes shone and she grinned. But to my surprise, her mother hurried her child, and they went away across the road, even without saying thanks to the poor man, let alone paying for his endeavor. He was asking her mother for some money like a beggar and I felt he didn’t deserve to be treated like that.

Then I asked him how much he earned each day. He answered back: How much should I say, sir? It’s negligible. You just saw what I earned!