Dhananjaya Baskota
The New Year
Chaos each year upon us descends
Encaged within facilitations, and
Ideas, like the parrot;
How it can drop
At the spot I marked!
How it can step in
At the site I allure!
It rather keeps staring
The accursed landscapes
Being the gazer, and celebrates
The stretching my peeling off.
Too cordially I allured it;
In rice field I called it
In the huts, pauper’s kitchens
In the lives of people,
In the schools, and hospitals
In the irrigation, and drinking water
Eventually in peace. I never
Ceased in tempting him
Even dismantled the cages for
His liberation, and then attained it.
Then he started coming; despite
My invitation, he came in
The liquor bottle, not in pauper’s mouth
In twin towers, not in huts
In riot sticks, not in pens
In the streets, not in schools
In illusion, not in disillusionment.
It kept coming as I’d signal
Never came in I asked to
Ever came in I forbade to;
Reverse and paradox its
Attribute. Rejoiced and felt
I’d be answered –
Did I become a year young now?
It perplexed and gazed
The empty space furiously, viz. me.
