Three poets, three poems from Nepal: Dr Dubasu Chettri, Bhupendra Khadka and Bhupeen

Today, I am presenting poems of Dr. Dubasu Chettri, Bhupendra Khadka, and Bhupeen.

‘Third eye’ by Dr. Dubasu Chettri

Dr. Dubasu Chettri (Dr. Durga Bahadur Subedi) is an ambassador of Nepal to the United Kingdom, Malta, and Ireland and is a permanent representative of Nepal to the IMO, WEC, ICO & ITC. He is the author of 5 collections of poems, 5 collections of songs, 5 gazal collections and 2 research-oriented books. A recipient of more than 30 awards and recognitions in his literary career, Dr. Chettri is also affiliated to more than a dozen literary institutions.

Dr Durga
Dr. Dubasu Chettri

Third eye – 1

– Dr. Dubasu Chettri

Enough has been the things
This pair of eyes have seen
I am tired now; stunned too
I am fragmented in myself
I cannot stand to see
My own calamity befalling me
I am trying to puke all darkness
Closing my two Swayambhoo’s-like eyes
I am willing to peek at myself
But then, I am tired
I have been defeated
I want to close the eyelids
Of both my eyes for a few days
I want to spill myself over time
Letting out from inside the light of my life-instinct
Want to sleep for a few more days now
I want darkness
I want not to see, ache or show
I want to raise Braille from inside myself
And keep me concealed

Do not confine me to one place
Do not make me stand
Beware; the Berlin Wall can surge up
And that shall take several years to crumble
Do not smash me at the same place
Do not force me in
Flames from the gas-chamber can rise; beware!
And the wound can take centuries to heal.

Oomph! Do not throw drift particles of atom or neutron bombs
Tears from Hiroshima had given the Pacific
The distinction of being the biggest ocean
It shall take centuries for this flow to stop
I cannot afford to keep crying anymore
I cannot anymore bear
To see inaccessible Berlin Walls being erected
Right through peoples hearts
I can no longer stay mute
To see the most tender human flesh Being baked inside a gas chamber
I cannot stand particles of an atom bomb
Charring peoples heart
Would rather sleep for a few more days now
I want some darkness
I want not to see, ache or show
I want to raise Braille from inside myself
And keep me concealed 

Enough is enough;
Do not demarcate a boundary line
On my courtyard
Do not slice man Into Ram, Krishna Jesus or Allah
For, God is always one
And is always an insider an individual
Do not come close to observe my body
Do not scratch my skin
Never divide man in terms of colors
Black or white
The color of humanity is always one
And blood looks red everywhere
Blood, by nature, is always hot
Oomph! Do not declare yourself my master

Standing on my porch;
Do not call me a slave
In all ages, ones master is none
But his present
If one tries I can always stay together
I can no longer afford to see
Innumerable gods in peoples hearts
I can no longer afford to see
The rise of scarecrows everywhere
I can no longer stay silent and see
The softest hears of people being pricked
In order to identify their colors
Let no one come near to me
And call me a slave
Would rather sleep for a few more days now
I want darkness
I want not to see, ache or show
I want to raise Braille from inside myself
And keep me concealed 

Do not come to me
At my study hour
Merely to show your innumerable books
Do not point with your forefinger
On any of your Bible, Geeta, Tripitak, and Koran
And force me to read it
The book we read is the same, everywhere
And its time!
Time is always single
And is worth reading for every individual
Be it a Hindu, a Muslim, or a Christian
Its useful to everyone, every moment
Do not appear

At the very outset of my journey
And show me the mountains of my destination
I am unwilling to climb any of those mountains:
The mountain of church, temple or mosque
The mountain of destination is always single
And this is the mountain of our goal
A goal always emanates
From the base of ones courage and selfesteem
Be it he, you or I
Success outstretches its arm
To hail everyone 

Oomph! Do not come into my backyard garden
And slice it into fragments
Do not divide it
As his, mine or yours
I have tolerated a lot
Having been divided into Korea, Germany Yemen, Vietnam or Kampuchea
I dont want to get divided this way
The earth always remains but one
Its common to everyone
Do not draw borders on its chest
With lines of blood
The earth is for all of us
In all ages, I cannot continue to stare
At someone walking close to me
And forcing me to read only one book
I cannot continue to tolerate
Someone who comes and forces me
To climb only one mountain
I can no longer stay silent
And see someone come and draw
Lines of demarcation 

On the breast of the earth
Would rather sleep for a few more days now
I want darkness
I want not to see, ache or show
I want to raise Braille from inside myself
And keep me concealed 


The ‘Third Eye – 1’ is one of the poems from Dr Dubasu Chettri’s book ‘Sacrificial Horses of Ashwamedha’.

Translated from Nepali by Mahesh Poudyal

‘Slippers’ by Bhupendra Khadka

Bhupendra Khadka is a poet, a national award-winning lyricist and also a popular Radio Jockey at Radio Kantipur, the most popular radio station in Nepal. He has been actively involved in the field of radio for almost one and a half decades. Having written songs for more than 5 dozen movies and also recorded more than 350 songs, he also holds a record in bagging almost all prestigious music awards in Nepal. Bhupendra Khadka also leads Book Hill, a publishing house in Nepal, as the CEO.

Bhupendra Khadka


–  Bhupendra Khadka

One day while crossing the wooden bridge
I got a splinter on my infantile foot sole
Rubbing off the slime running down my nose
with the left sleeve of my shirt
I was about to hold the slipper in my right hand
when the right pair dropped down the river.
And in no time drifted away
along the monsoon torrent
gyrating in the gushing water mire.

I returned home from school
with only the left pair in my hand.
Barefooted passed—
my school days.

Coming of age,
I commuted to the college
through a long suspension bridge.
Once again, my youth dropped down the river
from the holes on the derelict footbridge plank
against the aging cable-laid
and the river similarly swept away —
my salad days.

One evening in my youth
while I was venturing into the urban,
from the steps of the city-bound bus
similarly dropped off my right pair of slippers
and, this time got devoured by the Kali river.

Dozens of years passed by—
That childhood slipper infested by bugs
must have been impaled with holes.
Sailing on that adolescent slipper,
earthworms must have set many journeys.
And who knows—
the youthful slipper
flowing down the Kaligandaki
might have turned into a Shaligram by now.

Today at the tail end of life
Standing I am—on the shore of a crowd.
And one after another—
the slippers from my childhood, adolescent and youth
wading a long journey
finally, come to meet me.
Like me—
those slippers after having survived for decades
are tattered and battered, and
are lean and thin.

But the day when the strap broke loose—
Shredding the edge of her dress,
my mother had fixed a rag to the slipper.
That rag-like strap—
carrying the same aroma from my mother
is shimmering like pearls today.


Kali, Kaligandaki – a steep river in the Mustang region of Nepal that flows down to Muktinath—a pilgrimage

Shaligram – fossilized seashell stones regarded as an iconic representation of Lord Vishnu among Hindus; a precious holy stone found mostly in Kaligandaki river

Translated from Nepali by Jayant Sharma

‘The Ugly Verse’ by Bhupeen


Bhupeen is a poet, essayist, and novelist with three collections of poems, a collection of essays and a novel published. His creations are widely published and known for witty turn of phrases. Bhupeen is one of the founders of the ‘Conservation Poetry Movement’.

He was awarded a gold medal in a poem competition by Tanahun Sahitya Sammelan. An awardee of INLS (International Nepali Literary Society) Literature Award in 2011 for Hazar Varshako Nidra – a poem collection and ‘Uttam Shanti Puraskar’ for Chaubis Reel, a collection of essays, he also received ‘Khemlal Lamichhane Sahitya Puraskar’ and ‘Kabidanda Abinashi Utkrista Kriti Puraskar’ for his novel Maidaro.

The Ugly Verse

– Bhupeen

how does a parliament smell differently
from the way a crematorium does?
what difference really is there
in the cold blood of a court
of law and that of a butcher’s?
just outside their walls stand
in the pristine garb of honesty.

today I so strongly long to
turn it into a thing ugly.

come, my dear poets
let’s declare poetry dead today.
and let’s see how much
more alive will it look
sitting upon its own corpse.

let’s see
how mad
will the gun go about the end of imagination
to what distance
will the tyrant’s laughter reach,
and how crestfallen can art be?

great times are still to come
when beautiful verses shall be written.
for today’s shake, I opt to write
the ugliest of poetry
ever written.
and exactly the way the guns writes
the poetry of violence
on the chest of martyrs.

how long, how long should poetry
stay beautiful and alone.

Translated from Nepali by Manu Manjil  


Presented by Dr Sangita Swechcha

Dr Sangita Swechcha is a Communications Professional, Researcher, and a Fiction writer. She has over 15 years of experience in international communications and media relations. She is a Guest Editor for Global Literature in Libraries Initiative (GLLI) and coordinating ‘Nepali Literature month’ – November 2019. She is a novelist and a writer who has written a novel ‘Pakhalieko Siundo’, a joint collection of stories ‘Asahamatika Pailaharu’ and a collection of short stories ‘Gulafsangako Prem’ in Nepali.

Forthcoming in English translations in 2020 in e-book formats first: A novel ‘Pakhalieko Siundo’ and a collection of short stories ‘Gulafsangako Prem’, titled in English as ‘The Rose: An Unusual Love Story’ (looking for international publisher/s for publishing print versions of these books). Her twitter handle: SangyShrestha. Email: Connect on Facebook.

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