Satin

Caught alone in the clear vacuum
of the darkness pricked
by the thorn of moonless night,
I submersed into the flashes
of light that transcends from
the stars falling beyond the sky.

My journey conceals new dimension.
I stalked away
aching to explore and understand
my soul I discerned
in deep breathes of the larva
of the dainty cocoon of the light.

From cocoon I spun silk yarns,
woven the clothe and
tailored the satiny fashion
in harmony to my conceit
of appalling humanity I adored.
(wove the shawl to new fashion,
wrap my conceit
of appalling humanity I adored)

Utterly oblivious of the larva
like a split hair's breadth,
it comes off the cocoon, lifeless.

Alas!
The true soul of my own existence
fades
in the messy emptiness
of shimmering iridescent glass.

 

The Bile Duct

From the ceiling of my room,
a naughty spider swings
as it likes better
in satiny threads of web,
clenches its webbed feet
over the bare chest of my room,
sticks its mouth in its nipple
to milk out or to suck the milk.

Its futile efforts
offend the milky glands
and titillate the whole body,
The soul of my room
anticipated to relax for a while
startled in sound sleep
from the plinth of bed sheet.

The room with its air still
shattered an awful feeling
all over the room
takes all its clothes off
from its whole body,
reveals scratches of eczema
itched all over its body
like the sexy bitch
stripped off.
It swallows the hushed whisper,
links into my poetry
concealed the blank verse and
vomits the bitter bile.

The bile duct
of that room of mine is
my poetry.

After 2549 years

Siddhartha Gautam Buddha
With the light of Nirvana
intensified on his face
and with Gulupa in his hand
walks out of Jetawan
in the darkness.

The trail of his walk
witnessed his feet
congregated the lichen
to tidy up the slippery way.

On each stop of his footsteps
in a moment's pause for alms,
grows the Bodhi trees
bared (with no leaves).

Leaves falling from Bodhi trees
never pat the earth.
Buddha didn't yet
returned to Jetawan.

All's craving for peace.
Who's aware of
his gulupa  in his hand
still unfilled.

 

Pushpa Ratna Tuladhar, born on 1948, in Katmandu, is a poet and editor of  Layalama Online Magazine, www.layalama.com, quarterly literary online magazine in English. His poems are published in Rearview quarterly, Sidereality, Poetry Sharing Journals, Some Words, Ascent, Escritoire, Words Words Words, Zygote in My Coffee, James River Poetry Review and other printed and online magazines and also in anthologies published in USA, UK, Canada and India.

Contact Pushpa Ratna Tuladhar