Move aside, Keokra-Dong
Get out of my sight, Tazing-Dong
Let me see the sky-kissing Himalaya.
To be born as a simple Sherpa in Nepal
would have been much better than it is,
both eyes would sparkle with the dream
of conquering the Everest
and in mind
there would be a fulgent fervour
for having honeymoon
on the crest of the mountain...
The ill at ease deride of the Adinath
and the Chandranath
and the unseemly ridicule
hanging from the chin of the Chimbuk
should I stand how longer?
Behold, by swimming on and on
in the turbid water
of the Padma, the Meghna and the Jamuna
die my days and comes the game to an end!
My flippers are hitting
the bed of the swatch-of-no-ground.
Now I want to season my fins
in the Mariana Trench
and expose the verve of my lungs to a trial.
For I want with the exotic posture
of the gangetic dolphin
the whole expanse of the Pacific to the Atlantic
wax all smile, at least for once.
Dip down O Horizon
Let me dye my cataract-clad eyes
with the crimson of your after-glow.
Undo the knot of your sari-end
and grant me leave O mother mine!
For once in the rain-forest of Amazon
let me wash off
the scorching heat of high summer
and forget the legendary cooling air
that the shade beneath the banyan tree offers.
Himalaya, your birth, lineage and
the plate-tectonics of your rise...
I know of all.
Like playing horse-riding
on the back of my maternal grandfather
I would sit astride with ease
over your snobbish ridge
and swish you whopping whack
with a swiping whip.
Beware!
Dare not emit even a neigh,
I enjoin thee-
Let the steed of my sight
galumph on all over the horizon.