I chewed
Like the tasty beaten rice*
And swallowed the whole,
But the color of the ink
I’d never gulp down my throat,
It blends with saliva
In the salivated mouth
And dribbles
Out of my lips.

Following the poetry
Digested in my stomach
The poet inside me
Again this dribbled ink
To scribble another poetry.

The inexplicable
Really endure
The soul of this poetry.

The colors
Of my ink-stained face
Enhance an elusive excellence
In my poetry
Like the sparkling galaxy.

May 16th,2005

* Beaten rice, a kind of rice cooked and beaten in the mill

by Pushpa Ratna Tuladhar

Other poems of TULADHAR (40)

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.