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My City, Gen-Next, Slammed

Dear Prolific Poet

Dear poet, by seeking the mightier pen Do not write the poem Your overwhelming feelings Will not be comprehensible by anyone From writing hand, instead of ink
By Diwakar Dhakal

Dear poet, by seeking the mightier pen


Do not write the poem


Your overwhelming feelings


Will not be comprehensible by anyone


From writing hand, instead of ink


Blood floods are flowing


From the unsmoked dossier


Dialectic and feelings are not blooming


In forest and forestry


Ablaze is erupting


In that rage of fire and ashes world


Never discern it as illustrious and emblem


Dear prolific poet, henceforth do not write any poem


 


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In those fragile sanctum and shrine


Where will it ignite the faith of light?


Where will it stimulate the far-fetched peace?


In shanty and ravage huts, the bombs are exploded


Where can we see cicada insects singing autonomously?


Landmines have inculcated fright inside the chest


Decently, where can we hear the exquisite flute music


In that criminal flagrant face


Do not see any Walter-Mitty dream


Dear prolific poet, Henceforth do not write any poem


 


When our own camaraderie goes against us


When our own abode roofs are demolished 


When one’s face is accompanied by black color


When owns glorified history hurts


By infiltrating horrendous reality


In Everest the glacier bursts out when blood is stranded


Recently, the married woman was spangled with vermillion 


Now, Do not show audacity for re-marriage of a widow  


Dear prolific poet, henceforth do not write any poem


 


Rhododendron, Monal and musk-deer together


Became colorless in the mountain region


A gunshot wound scrambles the words


Deserted the barbet and Koel


Dove and pigeon are detained in a condolence cage


Lemon and nettle-waters electrocution


Exacerbated the wings


Cannot see any enlightenment of buddha


Dear prolific poet, henceforth do not write any poem


 


Somewhere there are varieties of rice pudding


Somewhere there is famished beauty


Somewhere there is a predicament of vicissitudes


Somewhere there is a bed of roses


When there are bleak and desolate mortals


When there is an orphan and thirsty


Do not apprehend desert blaze as a seabed


Dear Prolific poet, henceforth do not write any poignant poem.

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