Nimta Bhattarai
i gazed into the abyss of the Woods,
black, unending,
and looked for a little Fire.
i saw the dense bushes,
felt the chilling air,
i trodded forward,
looking for a little flickering Fire.
i called out for some matches,
groped for some branches and leaves,
picked up some stones to rub together,
i tried to make my own little fire.
but the matches burnt my fingers,
the branches crumbled beneath my feet,
the edges of the stones pricked my fingers,
and the fire fizzled out with my blood.
the rocks in the dark twisted my limbs,
i chided myself for not seeing better,
the wind knocked at my bones,
i cursed myself for not being warmer,
the spines and thorns tore through my skin,
i tried not to bleed over the wildflower.
the cold is seeping into my bloodstream,
the chill is stabbing at my lungs,
the foliage hides my sole illumination,
i need that little Fire.
the Woods mock me,
They want to kill me,
don’t They see how much i need that Fire?
god’s creation,
culmination of cosmic eons,
lies bare and battered,
in the clearing of the Woods,
god’s creation,
miracle amidst miracles,
lies trampled and broken,
in the heart of the Woods.
god’s creation calls out not to god,
but to the foliage to shift,
god’s creation prays not to god,
but to the little Fire to flick,
god’s creation forgets god,
and falls to the knees before the Woods.
the little cottage a mile away,
calls out my name,
the thumping hearts a mile away,
yearn to hear my say,
but the streams are silent,
and the trees do not listen.
balms of love offer my heart some care,
voices of calm some miles away,
try to lead my storm astray,
but the Woods do not know peace,
and i shall not leave.
for i will turn my bones to ash,
and rip out my skin,
rage a bloodbath,
and grind my limbs,
tear my brain,
and douse in kerosene,
for the little flickering Fire i seek.
-Bhaktapur, Nepal
