Posted by: tsopr | September 8, 2010

Bhuwan Thapaliya, Nepali Poet

Bhuwan Thapaliya was born in Kathmandu, Nepal and is one of the most widely read Nepali poet writing in English today. His writing is imbued with the art and culture of Nepal that he grew up with but his writing is not only about statistics: it is about spreading the message of global peace, love and solidarity.

His poetry books include, most recently, “Our Nepal, Our Pride (Cyberwit.net (ISBN 978 – 81- 8253 – 115 -4)”, narrative verses of love, peace and human understandings (http://www.amazon.com/Our-Nepal-Pride-Bhuwan Thapaliya/dp/8182531152), and his poetry has been published in the CD’s and the Books; The New Pleiades Anthology of Poetry (ISBN 1- 878431-52-8) and Tonight: An Anthology of World Love Poetry (The Poets Printery, East London, South Africa, 2008, pp.118, Paperback, ISBN 0-620-41372-7).

His poetry has been published in leading literary journals such as Urhalpool, Mahmag, Kritya, The Vallance Review, Nuveine Magazine, Foundling Review, Poetseers, Poetry life and times, Longfellow Literary Project, Poets Against the War, Voices in wartime, Tajmahal review, Autumn Leaves, Mindful of Poetry – Page for Africa, etc.

He has read his poetries and attended seminars in various venues in South Korea, USA, Bangkok, Cambodia and Nepal.

                             Featured Poetry of Bhuwan Thapaliya

A shirt on the hanger

O’ how fragile and weak
is the shirt that hangs on the hanger

dropped to the toe of a rack,
without a face, nor any grace.

O’ how hopeless looks the necktie
around the collar of the woolen skeleton

– concentric rings of a painful death.

O’ a shirt on the hanger,
what a naked romance it unfolds!

Patriotism

I am not
the inhabitant

of any
nation.

I am
the global citizen

of my
own imagination.

But
the fragrance

of the
soil,

where you
were born

has laid
the foundation stone

of a new nation
in my core.

“It has
the patriotism of love,”

reveals my soul.

River and the Moon

“Look, look at me.
I reside so high
and so close
to the heavens.
Come, come
and catch me,”
said the Moon
to the River.

“Gaze down
and take a dip,
and then you will know
the earthly joy,”
lambasted the River back
to the Moon.

“Look, look at me,
I have stars
as my company,
and I play hide and seek
with the clouds.
Come, come and
be with me,”
sang the Moon
to the River.

“You have
voiceless stars
as your company,
and the sweat of the sky
veils your eyes.
Come, come and
be with me instead,
for I have
plants and animals
as my friends.
They jump, they sing,
they dance, and they bathe …
all open and naked,
along the shores
of the Mother Earth,”
whispered the River
to the Moon.

“Oh! River,
I am thirsty, my darling.
I wish to take a plunge,
deep inside you,”
the Moon sighed.

“Come, come my darling,
let us cross all the barriers
and enter into each other,”
murmured the River to the Moon.

A child in its mother’s womb

A child in its mother’s womb
is the highest form of all the arts.
No painter could paint
any thing better than that.
No poet could write
any poem better than that.
No actor could perform
any scene better than that.
No singer could sing
any song better than that.
And the moment, the child
steps into this Earth, a
masterpiece will be born
and in front of this child
the works of art
will be mediocre.

Grief

Clouds of choking dust
swirl through Haiti,

bodies lie splayed
in a pile:

an expanding
matrix of bereavement.

A man holds
a half peeled orange,

a mother lies
near her daughter,

face dismantled ruthlessly
by the trembling beast.

A young boy
with outstretched arms

seems
crucified.

Who will
cover them with Earth?

Who will pluck some flowers
and place them upon their grave?

All alone,

a wounded survivor
stands apart,

gazing in disbelief
at the sky

frozen by horror
and lost in a Ginsberg daze,

he feels
the world crumbling

in his mouth,
flimsy and frail.

Copyright © 2010 Bhuwan Thapaliya

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