Sibu Dhakal
Roaring like “Birabhadra”,
While ravenous and parched,
His heart and chest are saturated
With love and adulation
Of the motherland.
A true Gorkhali son, he,
With few surviving comrades,
Inhale sacred mountain gusts
No known adversary could constrain,
While wielded Khukuri
Fearlessly shred flesh
Into utter oblivion.
Outside the fort,
In open battlefield,
We, the vanguard undaunted,
Are bombarded
By bullets and artillery falling
Like flaming meteors from the sky.
Upon stepping inside the fort
The bloody stench of death
Permeates all, wall to wall,
As he assesses the cruel carnage
Having been wrought,
On man, woman, and child,
While the hearts
Of us, the valiant victors,
Are pricked by twisted visages
Pining for death’s cold embrace.
Still, he realizes
Only what was needed
Was done.
Our chief’s bravado,
One step ahead,
Was a tiger’s roar
Filling faint heart’s
With Gurkha pride.
The chief’s each step
Shook the earth beneath.
His purposeful stride,
Fearless and sure,
Melted the enemy’s heart,
As a new chapter
In combat history was made.
I, an anonymous warrior
Recall it all – how could I forget
That night, or my pounding heart
Filled with pride,
And more than a tinge of fright?
Thus, beneath this statue I stand,
An anonymous soldier
Delighted the tale
Of unmitigated valour,
Inspired by our fearless hero,
Has circled the Earth.
