Parizat
Just now, the dense
fragrance of roses
flow into my room.
A spring maid
in thick red skirts
followed.
She walked to the mirror
stared and left,
The scent bottle and rosy stuff
at her heels.
Then, there was nothing
inside my room.
A beautiful rose was lost
all of a sudden
from the many in the vase
on my table.
Recently I see
martyrs blood on red roses.
Recently I smell
martyr’s’ blood in their scent.
Welcome, all red roses,
A hearty welcome to my room.
Please enter, stay or go.
But don’t let your scent
keep only from your skin.
Allow it to arise
from your blood.
I want to cultivate
the fragrance of martyrs
in protection from every foul smell.
Oh; well wishers, don’t
pick up a thorny rose
and pin it on your coat.
Let no one murder roses, crushing them between their palms.
They are mixes of blood and scent,
They are mixture of blood and aspiration.
( Translated from Nepali by Barbara Nimri Aziz and Barbara Soros)