HOME: INTRODUCTION: BELEIVES: LOVE: GHALLARY: WORDS: CONTACT:
As I was not in a mood to do the assignments from classes, after a hot sweating lunch at around 1, I went out to the park nearby to scald myself in the mild sunrays. It is a real treat when the sun is really shining in the northern part of Europe. People go berserk when the weather is really promising for the full day. So, me also being a part of this town for more than a year now, trying to catch up with some of their good virtues. Not disturbing your friends when they are free for the weekends and allow them some privacy, decided to go and read a book sitting in the green bench near a big statue of a zealous horse being saddled by 3 muscular men. One of them is slinging towards the enemy, the other aiming with a bow and the third one catching the mane of the horse, trying to get control of the horse. The two enemies were lying on their back nearly being trampled by the furious horse in haste. Every time when I feel like going out for nothing, I just walk up to the park and sit for long hours savoring the silence along with the others who come to do the same. It just gives you a feeling of peace from within, a relief from the stressed mind for a moment.
Today, I read some pages from the novel, one last dance and suddenly when I saw the thick chunks of ice floating around the pond below the statue, I decided to flip the chunks just for fun. I was doing so, and then suddenly an old man approached me and said something in his language, which I couldn�t figure out. So, I told him that I�m sorry but I don�t follow his language. He then asked if I can speak English, and if so can we talk for a while. I said it is no problem to me as he was like my grandfather. He asked me what I do as a living and when I told him that I�m a university student he was a bit taken back; I couldn�t ask for the reason though.
We sat in a bench in front of that statue and he started to ask me about my nationality and the rest. I told him and to my surprise he said Nepal must be a beautiful country with all those beautiful mountains, most of all the Mt. Everest. I nodded; he proceeded by asking me what we call in our language.
Then he asked if I liked this town. I told him, I do and told him about the nice things that I encountered here, the civilized & very social citizens, clean and well-maintained historical monuments, and the zealous work force driving the economy towards the enlistment of the nation.
Then he asked me if I know some history about the place I�m residing at present. I told him what I knew and he gave a smile and continued what about this proper place? I stared blankly at him. He read my expression, so he went on saying how the statue was being built, who built it and how the sculptor died. Followed by how the surrounding was being settled.
He told me that he paints to earn some extras. I asked him, if he is a realistic or an impressionist painter. He was surprised how I know about the paintings. I told him as I am in Europe I have to learn about them, paintings and architectural designs, just to update myself and to blend into their society. So, he told me that he is an impressionist. He said that I am lucky as I can afford whatever I want but he was not that lucky. I blinked in disagreement but he gave me the explanation, when I was in my best years of life, I could not buy even chocolates because of the raging WWII. Our country was destroyed totally during the past, even though we didn�t want to participate, the neighboring large countries didn�t give us a chance. Every time there was war, we had to suffer directly or indirectly. That is the reason why we are so engross in achieving success in the endeavors today to make up for the losses in the past. His words echoed in my ears, what about us?? This thought make my stomach churn with acid.
Suddenly, he looked at his watch and said he had to go, stood up shook my hand and left after saying, MY REGARDS TO NEPAL! I stayed there dumb folded for a while how myself being young and getting tired of my assignments even when I am carefree at this period and an old man of 75 paying much attention to his time being spent in a park.
What a difference we have about respecting the time and keeping track of ourselves within it.
Morning has broken and u say it�s a new day,
Well I find it, rather the continuation of yesterday,
Nothing seems new to me a long and arduous journey,
A chain of yesterdays giving birth to a new day,
Which will soon become a yesterday (before u realize it)
And I will again long for a new day, like I am doing for so many years
So many years, the calendar on the wall tells me that,
You had told me once, put some salt in your wounds,
It won�t heal (it won�t heal any way) but it will numb the pain,
The salt will take your pain to the greatest pain there is,
And then it will slowly come down,
A very cruel way of nursing a wound,
It was though, a good solution,
But still a very painful way to kill a pain,
Believe me like other things you had told me,
I tried this also; please don�t ask about the pain,
Its not that I don�t want to tell,
But it�s more that I won�t be able to tell,
I won�t be able to find words to describe it,
As you know I am not a genius of words,
No words can contain in it, the agony I felt,
The pain I bore and the tears I cried,
The loneliness, the emptiness, the sinking feeling inside my heart,
Do you think I can describe it all in words?
How can I explain why I made sandcastles every morning?
And every evening waited very patiently for the waves,
Every morning I fed my heart with fresh hopes,
And every evening consoled it with same stale words,
You lied to me when you said the pain would go,
Nothing goes; once they come they settle down,
Stay forever, to torment you, to eat you,
Feeding on your memories, your heart, your soul,
They become strong and you become weak,
So weak, so weak, that you don�t feel any more,
You get used to the pain and you don�t feel it anymore,
Not because, it goes away but it mingles in you and you become the pain,
And in the last you don�t fight it but preserve it,
You want it to stay, because that�s the only thing you have,
The only thing you are left with and life goes on,
And everyday you long for a new day that never comes.
No luck in favor, no chance to win,
Fighting a loosing battle, every moment loosing some ground,
Darkness everywhere, no morning in sight,
Against all odds, I had just one advantage,
The advantage of no choice,
It was to do or regret the whole life,
I was venturing alone, with no covers,
Down in the middle of the enemy line,
I had to move on coz I had no place to retreat,
Don�t say I was crazy, crazy I was before,
But this time I was sane, very sane in my whole life,
I was no coward fearful of death,
Rather I was looking for a graceful death,
Why I was doing?
I was doing it to live my dreams,
For the coming generation,
For your children and mine,
So they could walk the earth with dignity and pride,
With a new understanding of human kind,
I WANTED TO �BE�,
I wanted to prove myself that I had it in me,
It was important otherwise life had no meaning,
Deep down I felt worthless and I was trying to be of some worth,
I don�t believe that nature would stand up and say anything at my deathbed,
But I am sure when I am six feet down,
Some friends and enemy would gather round and say,
He was indeed a man, who always played by the rules,
Even the games with no rules,
He fought so well though he was defeated, On my epitaph they will write, �Here lies a man, who dared to dream,
And paid the price.
What I could have done? Things were just not in my hands,
Destiny was playing its game, without consulting me,
Not bothering about my opinion, not giving a thought about how I felt,
So it�s useless, you blaming me and me blaming you,
Or we blaming ourselves,
Though we could be blamed for playing it too seriously,
But not for playing foul,
We both were very seriously, sincerely and helplessly,
Playing our parts destined for us,
Not even aware that what, we think, we are doing,
Is not exactly, we are doing,
Somebody else is to be blamed for our misadventures, our
misfortunes,
I am sure those were not our hands, which set fire in the house where we lived,
Those were the hands of the unseen, the unknown,
The omni present, as they say (though I always doubt it)
Someone behind the curtain, with all the strings,
Running the show, his show, his creation, his play,
Got nothing to do with us,
We were just instruments but tragically and ironically,
Instruments with reasoning and feelings,
Instruments with laughter and tears,
Instruments with happiness and pain,
Instruments, which sometimes rebelled and cried,
Oh god, please take this cup of suffering away from me,
And when nothing happened, with frustration added helplessly,
�Thy will be done, not mine�
Though inside it cries in anger, it�s always like that, not a new thing,
Its always you, who win, using words like �destiny� & �fate�,
It�s true, it was me, who loved you and thought if life has a name then it�s you,
If a poem can be seen then it�s in your smiles,
It�s also true that it was me, who always wanted to be with you,
It was me, who thought life couldn�t exist without you,
But it�s not true that it was me, who betrayed you and deserted you,
Or it was me, who turned away and disappeared,
We were not aware that when we were deep in love, promising each other,
At the same time, destiny was busy doing something else,
Though we tried and tried hard, clutching at every straw, which comes on our way, Thinking the storm would pass silently as it came,
We didn�t know then, that things would never be same after the storm,
Wounds will heal but some wounds are worse when they are healed,
And those wounds need constant scratching when they are about to be healed,
----------------------------------END OF THIS PAGE-----------------------------
