New Poems: Sushant Thapa

Worn-out Blues 

 

My faded blue color headphone, 

A tribute to musical spring. 

 

The whiteness of a tooth fairy

That my niece welcomes 

After she pulls her weak tooth. 

 

The faded color of my home, 

My drawings left un-kissed by the sun. 

 

I see the wine glass, 

Empty beside your absence

My heart breaks 

Like a glass barrel of wine. 

 

I chant evening prayers 

To sail the forgotten empire 

And make it land on holy grounds 

Of essence. 

 

My worn-out blues 

Makes me an outlaw

Living in pocketed dreams. 

 

I walk on the street 

Reading headlines 

From bookstores' Newspaper 

 

Worn-out is the news of life 

With no smiling jazz for 

People to amuse themselves.

 

 

Hopeful in Death 

 

When the time

Sings its last melody 

Let me not be grounded. 

 

My grave will play 

The music of departure 

In hope and it will 

Flower a dandelion. 

 

I will touch the sky 

When my heart will sprout 

And flower like a 

Cotton cloud. 

 

My maple leaves 

Will decorate your lawn

And sway not in shyness. 

 

I am hopeful of death, 

When I cease, 

These things will remind 

You of my life, 

 

Like my poems 

That has sailed my life 

In a boat of hope. 

 

I searched for hope 

My whole life. 

 

Now, my death carries 

A hopeful face. 

 

With this hopeful face, 

I bid you adieu. 

 

 

 

Words and Situation 

 

I still have the words, 

Because I still have the night.

 

I am not leaving 

Like a figure of departure. 

 

My sailing days are over, and 

I have landed 

And will continue to be grounded 

In philosophy 

 

To understand why the town bell rings? 

When no one lives together, 

Like a town 

Like a family

And like a human heart 

Beating together. 

 

We are one and all

We are all in one,

A representation is a part 

Of being. 

 

We share the same world, 

To soothe the agonies 

And erase the scars. 

 

 

 

Stop Quoting Dostoyevsky 

 

 

All your life gone in reading, and  

You haven't written a word. 

 

Your choice of words, 

Your fingerprints on the paper 

Everything is non-existent  

Like your signature 

Missing from your newly unpublished book. 

 

All throughout the day, 

You played with the sun rays, 

A book in your hand. 

 

There is a saying, I read somewhere: "Stop Quoting Dostoyevsky, and explain yourself." 

More poems by Sushant Thapa on BMR can be found here: https://georgedanderson.blogspot.com/2023/08/featuring-sushant-thapa.html 

 

© Sushant Thapa 

Biratnagar-13, Nepal 

 

 

Bio of the Poet: Sushant Thapa(born on 26th February, 1993) 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 five books of English 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), Love’s Cradle (World Inkers Printing and Publishing, New York, USA and Senegal, Africa, 2023) and Spontaneity: A New Name of Rhyme (Ambar Publication House, New Delhi, 2023).