Oblivion!

  And i will always love you.  For in the glasses you bruised with your lips,  in the words you wrote on pages whose stories still light up the living room,  in the magnets on the fridge  of places you have been,  in the coffee cups that never saw a latte,  in the slippers that caressed your feet every morning,  and in the lust of the wind that embraced you every day,  you exist.  And i will always love you.  For in the mind of yours i could barely touch,  in the thoughts of yours i could barely see,  in the life of yours, i could just hardly peek,  in the freedom that you craved, you exist.  You exist soaring, and i see you from a distance because letting you go is the only way of loving you.  And i will always love you.  My doings and un-doings,  my subversion and the longevity of my own,  my own thoughts today  are here because of you, and in all this fundamental void,  you exist....

Because some connections are precious enough to hold, even within uncertainty.  Ghantaghar, the anchor of my soul, is being rebuilt. The road to Devkota Museum, still traversing through the gallis in Maitidevi where I would peek at every week returning from my appointments. The constellations, always moving, and a little hope of witnessing the Milky Way still tagging along with me. The moon, fresh off of its permanence from the new moon night, still going on, one phase at a time. "Dagbatti" by Bhim Nidhi Tiwari echoing in my ears as I embrace a stranger's nothingness. Devkota's Veshya watches me from over a परमानन्द flavored airy Kathmandu, and the words of his, I continue to borrow: म दिन्न अंशदान ए ! म सिंगुलै चढाउँछु ! I'll give it all. If I don't, I don't know who I am anymore. A point on a vector space, I am nothing but a logical manifestation of singular identity drawing waves and functions and trying to trace their continuity. But I don't know ...

  I write somehow.  About you. For how can I not? You have embraced me; touched me so.  My skin craves your fingertips very desperately,  as if their absence costs me my sense of feeling, my sense of knowing, my sense of me. I  cry sometimes. Missing you. How can I forget the effervescence of your breath? Washed bedsheets still carry your scent; I am yours again on those rainy afternoons when my coffee cup sits alone waiting for a laughter. You went  away  silently.  A loud eternal void that gulps my wuthering soul sounds like you, and I cave in everyday in your hope.  Strands of your worn-out sweaters, inks from your old notebooks, where do I not find you my dear? You left  alone  messily. Light carries your eyes;  ocean waves yearn and yearn and yearn; the walls whisper your newest stories to each other; the equations of your soul shine during the night in an attempt to awaken you.  I  stare nowhere wearily, because...

Solitude is the mirage caving in on me,  in its whispers,  in its delicacies,  and in its righteousness.  A Dickinson prose creeping through my back door  as I whistle in the wind  the reality of my fragile eternity; it asserts a dominion of hope,  because I have already chosen a road.  It is no longer not taken.  I'll take it again and again.  Swiftly screeching is a cradle of nothingness that burns with my soul  a poetry of my resonance,  a cruelty of my predicaments, and the words of my absence  all present so very wearily. No rock remains unturned as I handpick them just to flick their purpose  of being soulless connoisseurs of  apathy.  I take a whiff in the evening sun,  caressing the warmth in between my own hands because pain doesn't allure me now.  Pain does not allure me now.  Exposed buttons of my consciousness lie withered in condolences of a conscience. Colors feel the darkness of...

शीतल छ काठमाडौँ आज, मनोभावको आफ्नै तरङ्ग बगे जस्तो र वर्षाको अङ्कमालमा सजिएका यी सडक  हास्यव्यंग्यका पृष्टभूमीतुल्य छन्। निकटताको ज्योतिमा चम्किएको जून आज मार्गदर्शक बनी टोलाइरहँदा, मभित्रका अवशेषमा अवकाशको नमिठो अन्त्य कोट्टाउँदै, बिडम्बनालाई डोर्याउँदै,  आफ्नो छहारी दिने काठमाडौँ  आज म समस्त रुपमा ग्रस्त भेट्दैछु।  कस्तो अटल चञ्चलता हो यो  म बुझ्न सक्दिन, म बुझ्न सक्दिन कस्तो सुन्दर बैराग्य हो यो ! बाँसुरी बजिरहँदा, आँसु बनी वेदना झरिरहँदा, केलाएका भटमास झैँ अचेतनले कोल्टे फेरिरहँदा, क्षीतिजमा बिलाउने अनकन्टार ब्रम्हाण्ड आफ्ना हत्केलामा तेर्सिरहँदा, कता पोखूँ म मेरो वीर कायरता ? कसलाई गरूँ म आश्चर्यको प्रश्न, कुन कलमले कोरूँ  समयले मस्तिष्कमा कुँदेको गम्भीरता ? मेरा भाका सेलाइसकेछन्;  तिम्रो अच्युत चेतले सायद कुनै पृष्टभूमी पाएन। मोहको चिताको वर्णन गर्न टद्पिरहेको कुनै  निर्विकार सत्य आज परिभाषा खोज्दैछ  तिम्रो सङ्गीतको, तिम्रा पङ्क्तिका, तर कसले भनिदिन्छ खै; तिमी अल्प छौ, विकल्प बिनाको।  शीतलताको पछ्यौरीमा ढाकिएको तिमी अमृत थियौ, आज म...

  A crow flies in solitude. Few droplets of rain rest on my arm. Shimmering blue and green lights speak to me from a distance, and a couple holding hands own the street with their laughter. A kid from the house next door gifts me a tiny rose, and as I book my evening show tickets for the new spiderman movie, all I wish for is a happy ending. Like the end to this day I am seeing right now.  The yellow sidelight from the nearby car makes the crying 6-year-old begging for a chocolate startle and then, cry again, and in his idiosyncrasies, I get reminded of the 21-year-old me begging for a Hot Wheels in a supermarket a few days ago. I suppose my idiocy won't leave me anytime soon. Kathmandu, the land of my very dreams, which birthed the solace I enjoy, which breathes the polluted air of my audacious jokes; Kathmandu, the city of temples where pigeons mark their territory on a parked scooter; Kathmandu, the light that scatters somewhere in Nagarjun and the longer you stare at the c...