Nishan Timalsina
It was February.
I do remember, it was a cold night in February,
Where, under the lamppost by the street,
Amidst the coldest drops,
You hugged me with all the warmth,
As if,
the winter has just vanished and the spring began.
In the middle of a pitch-black city that had long since fallen asleep,
Your eyes gleamed.
Your eyes gleamed so bright,
I could envision all the way towards the future.
All my life, I had hovered around the bushes.
That day, you appeared in the same way,
as angels are remarked in fairy tales.
I, being strangled with my bitter memories,
I don’t even remember for how long,
Met with the destiny,
In the city,
Where even the dreams are rare.
Of course! It was February.
A fine breeze whistled a remarkable happiness,
Getting to gently touch your short hair,
whispered to my ear,
Man, you have met an amazing woman,
Right at the moment you kissed me.
It felt like a monk chanting ‘Om’ in my ears.
I went deep down to the ocean of love,
Where a mermaid cheered for us being together.
I ascended high into the sky,
Where I could see your smiling face on the moon.
I opened my eyes to see you in my arms.
That day, I felt the same sensation of accomplishment,
the same victory,
That Buddha may have felt on the day he was enlightened.
However,
the clock rotates and calendars change,
Changing us too.
And now, it’s a darkest fact that you are no more in my life.
And thus,
February brings up the coldest hurricane and drifts me away.
I find myself entangled in your memories,
I sense the inevitable coldness inside.
You know,
There are no lights,
And now I am lost just like this dark city.
In the darkness,
Wolves and jackals march their parade,
their howls echoing with them.
My chest starts to ache.
I have a hunch that I am dying shortly,
Just as this February.
As there are no stories of us this month carries,
except the ignorance by you,
I am pretty ensured,
February is dead.
It has been dead a long ago.
