Trembling amidst the high mountains
Kathmandu valley stood that day.
Rage and wrath under the ground
Tormented the natives who had nothing to say.
Havoc at the heritage sites.
Landmarks reduced to rubble,
leaving behind the relics.
Dust and debris all around,
Cries and commotion all around,
Men left panic-stricken and bereft
Nature, held responsible for this theft.
Atheists and the theists all left wandering,
No technology at length could save
Except giving some ease.
Clouds and rain and the thunder
mourning because of ‘that slander’.
Then came the swarm of bees, buzzing,
Made their hives and occupied the Tribhuwan Airstrip.
The crisis was broadcasted all around the globe
And came some brave and supportive hands
For help and renovation.
Yet the people were uncertain
All aware of the Volpones
That do exist, so lethal, multiple in number
Curious and inquisitive faces
That kept gazing at the hills, all in vain
Probably awaiting for some good times
And stable lives that they long for…
These mighty Himalayas, The Everest
Are full of wonders
Having the potential to heal and to destruct
The latter so lethal, that I fear.
Yet that smiling infant,
My pen-sister who sent her paintings and hope
And then the young Pemba Lama do inspire.
Kudos to the human might,
The men at work
Their perseverance and their fortitude.
I remember the fear stricken old men
Sipping their morning tea and gossiping at the tea shops,
The Himalayan Times held open in their hands
As if little waving flags with photos and news
Conveying the scale of destruction
The vehicles plying on the road
Refusing to recognize each other
Ground that claims to remain static and still
Quivered time and again
Making that stark fear to return.
Month of April, month of May,
25th of April and 12th of May
Past began to sprout upon me
And that stark terror starts to hover all around
Still that echoing of run-run, aayo-aayo.
But then I try to envision the ancient Kasthamandap,
The time when we had wooden houses,
Would they have caused so much of cataclysm?
Such questions no one can answer.
People slept under the open sky making it the ceiling
Probably fearing that it’s their home
That may turn out to be their grave.
We all did pray, to save
The country where Lord Buddha was born,
The land of Janaki, which also is the cult of Mithila
The land of numerous wonders and marvelous sights
Whose people are known for their courage and might.
Temples of unique architecture,
Evidences of the glorious past,
Narrating the tale of a glorious empire.
Dharhara, when shall it again stand?
Those days, that jocund Kathmandu
Will it come back again?
That glorious tourist destination
Heart of Nepal, Kathmandu,
Shall pound once again.
Bit by bit and piece by piece
A new prospering Kathmandu
Blessed and cursed by the Himalayas
Added by the zeal and zest of the gurkhas
Waits for the whole world.
The grief of the people shall pass down as Gloomy-tales
To the filial generation, so they could
Learn and prepare for the upcoming time.
And says Shelley in one of his poems:
“If winter comes, can spring be far behind”
And Dagoankar in one of his song:
“Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise again”
Mayank Kashyap is a graduate in English, hailing from an ordinary place with some extra ordinary experiences. He likes to provide wings to his imagination through the beautiful genre of poetry. He likes to sign with a pseudonym – Morningstar. He had an excellent time at St. Xavier’s College, Patna, where he studied literature and had a close look at what life actually is. Now he devotes his time to reading and writing. He reflects his experiences through words like a painter depicting his world on a canvas.