The Last Stanza
Those 19 days
I remember when the great 19 days began.
They said it was the final push,
To end what started in the villages a decade ago.
Time to overwhelm the capital with people
in hundreds,
in thousands
or perhaps a hundred thousand.
Chanting, singing, shouting on top of their voices,
In urgency and anger.
Many spectacle seekers brought there
because everyone else was
Holding green branches as placards,
and partisan banners.
for the silver sun and moon.
United on the streets, as one nation
for a while everyone was a Nepali first.
I remember
a day turning into two and that into a few.
Till the master was master no more
but the slave still the slave.
I remember
the home dwellers poured water
and mercy and blessings to quench
what only change could quench.
I remember the
throwing stones like bullets and upholding chest
like shields
till someone was shot
for what they believed and shouted, and all would scatter
when eyes were filled with tears.
I remember when the police were confused
and reluctant to fight a fight that was not theirs.
Hammering at someone he would have smiled and greeted
In and around the tol, or in the footpath stall.
Only doing what he does to feed his family,
while the others do what they do to feed theirs.
And those who were always fed
stayed locked up at home
dreamy castles growing taller,
as people got louder
whenever someone was shot.
I remember when the “ruler” of the land bowed down
To secret telephoned deals and the might of the people,
Like vultures his parasitic flesh was torn.
When much of him was devoured
they eyed each other,
And our saviors became cannibals.
Slok Gyawali
Slok Gyawali does not want to use his name but can't think of a cool enough nom de plume. He likes reading. He has a blog - http://mastervslave.blogspot.com and wants you all to check it out.
