Featuring Sushant Thapa

1. City 

 

 

A city skyline 

has no border. 

Her caricature is to 

imitate human life 

and make it glorious. 

The city sleeps with her eyes open, 

she has to safeguard her  

respect, smiles

and veiled shyness. 

Tomorrow she will bring 

memories of other places. 

She does not want to be 

the mirror of one tabloid sky, 

she wants to zoom in, 

to read her ancient uprisings. 

When a foreign memory conquers  

which face will the city show? 

                                                                                                 

2. By the Lake

 

There was a lake here once

Now my feet are not wet, 

I no longer understand 

And cannot rejoice, my stand here. 

Swimming I know not, 

But I preferred the lake-face

Of this land. 

Now any speck of the night 

Wants to flower 

By the early morning here. 

The lake water is cool no more, 

The faces that reflect themselves 

Have drunk of dried thirst. 

My fellow pal, 

Cannot get the location of this land. 

There was a lake here once,

He does not believe his eyes now 

And he cannot even believe his memory. 

Now the green pool is sucked dry. 

Who drank the lake water? 

Any myths could take the swans away

And they have.  

Once here the lake wind blew and stirred

The love among long wanderers 

Who lost their nakedness 

Under the howling moon 

Heard in reflection in the lake water. 

 

 

                                                                                       

3. Paper Memory

 

The floating papers 

Touch the water 

Spilled on the floor. 

There is coldness, 

When the water 

Soaks the paper whole. 

My ink dissolves 

It mixes with the water. 

Your name was written in that paper. 

My sunshine is melting like ice. 

The nights are also cold

Like all those melted ices. 

In a drop of water 

I see my heaven.  

I have known the cost

Of this coldness 

The paper has left me wanting more. 

Photographs of yours 

In an empty house 

Resemble still life. 

 

 

 

                                                                                     

4. After You Left

 

Like a shadow 

I saw you going. 

You were a moonlight, 

You were a dew 

Still on the leaf. 

My winter's language of 

Affection was your warmth. 

I saw you leave

Like a thread 

Being pulled. 

That dew became a tear 

Yet, memories remain. 

They say it is easy to write 

A love poem. 

But I say it is difficult when 

You have given your loving heart, 

And art can't bring it all back. 

But I have trustful and colorful memories; 

They get strong with the door 

To reach your abode. 

I haven't learnt to not think in love. 

 

 

                                                                                   

5. Love Poem

 

Pauses in rain 

Is never announced;

It just happens. 

Only spring announces its arrival. 

Flowers begin to dance

There is fragrance sprayed 

In the air. 

Remember, when we met

In the spring? 

Spring announces its arrival 

Because we wait for it. 

I waited for your arrival

And you came. 

And you came not in winter 

But it was spring 

Marked in my blooming love diary. 

That diary is a love calendar now. 

Go like the spring 

With little bit of future anticipations, 

And soft kisses of love poems. 

 

 

                                                                                      

6. Sketch of Myself 

My child loves to 

Grab her new diary. 

 

She wants to draw and write 

Before her pen arrives

 

My mother wants to play with the child, 

But the child wants to write. 

 

An old age, 

Wants to free the body with an hour of play

 

But here, a child counts her scores of arts:

More drawings of Mermaids and Barbie

 

In the child's eye, even time could be drawn

And then hours would sink to seconds. 

 

I think that when I write my thoughts, 

I write before I think

 

But before that, 

My child draws a picture of me. 

 

I am a picture. 

I am a sketch.

 

The endless depiction of color, 

What color suits me?

 

My child leaves me colorless, but 

My clothes are stars-studded,

 

I aim for the sun in the snow

To wake up and rise.

 

Isn't any normal day, 

A sketch of myself? 

 

Or I may think, 

Stars need no colors, 

 

I can still be them, but 

Can the stars be me? 

 

 

 

Bio: Sushant Thapa is a Nepalese poet from Biratnagar-13, Nepal who holds a Master’s degree in English literature from Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, India. He has published four books of poetry namely: The Poetic Burden and Other Poems (Authorspress, New Delhi, 2020), Abstraction and Other Poems (Impspired, UK, 2021), Minutes of Merit (Haoajan, Kolkata, 2021), and Love’s Cradle (World Inkers Printing and Publishing, New York, USA and Senegal, Africa, 2023). Sushant has been published in places like Sahitya Post, The Gorkha Times, The Kathmandu Post, The Poet Magazine, The Piker Press, Trouvaille Review, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Impspired, Harbinger Asylum, New York Parrot, Pratik Magazine, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Dope Fiend Daily, Atunis Poetry, EKL Review, The Kolkata Arts, Dissident Voice, Journal of Expressive Writing, As It Ought To Be Magazine, Spillwords, Mad Swirl, Ink Pantry, International Times and Outlook India among many.