junkmail oracle

featured poets & artists


raghab nepal

Raghab Nepal is 19 years old. He lives in Nepal and is currently studying in Chennai, India. nepalruckus@hotmail.com


It's a summer around, I'm cold and numb

What and how'd be my livelihood.

A loaf of bread and shade of tree

Are ebbing away, the world's so rude.

Sitting by the road, stretching my hand

Far and wide for some jingling coins

Whose sound have turned so dear to me

A soothing music for life, a very few

Of the many rich that come

To offer their prayer to the divine lord,

Cared to throw few at me.

I am content and full but for food

So my smiles are high,. I have no dues.

But U my donors, never U smile

And I'm a beggar but you are poor.



Piles of hoarding and neon signs

Lost me from myself beneath

The skyscrapers where

Crowds of men found a way of life,

And to my disgrace, I lost one.

None seemed to care

Even the arrival of dawn,

Since the difference in night and day

Were none and still like fools

All loved the joy of being artist

Of the unending drama.

Dollars and pounds, rupees and francs

Love lost existence in the far off ground

Which had sunk so deep that only few fairy tales

Could name, and it "just seemed Interesting"

To hear the same.

Losing all hope in the polluted air,

I dreamt of beauty I could find in love

Till a sound of coins woke me up

Thrown at me by passer-by

Thinking me to be a beggar,

Calling it to be a token of love.

At last I realised love's existence still remains

But the way of loving has met an unprecedented change.



Sky, a dull dark cauldron

Where the angry-looking cloud

Seemed to fly has hidden me

Today and in my heart,

I understand, my fear

Deep within has started

Taking shape. A gentle brook

Which quenched my thirst

Is in huge waves about to gallop myself.

The trees that cooled me

In scorching sun

Started throwing their branches

To prepare my death-bed.

And the fire that warmed me

In chill winter is ready to lit

My corpse still when I'm alive.



Far high in the sky

A dim cloud looked

Like a shy princess

Adorned with smile

And which turned me blue.

A mild wind changed

The very view; the princess

To a scary witch.

My face turned black and green.

How do we cling our belief in things

When our eyes start

Singing the song of betrayal

When so long history

Which we've learnt and admired

Turn out to be a story of a drunken man!


Experience erstwhile ecstasy, ban on brand new strafing

Perambulate through yester-years, be alive,

Solitary world reckons the need of revolution,

Of geneses of peace. For it wants

No callous genocide, it calls for alive peace.

Alleged era of ongoing sin- "Old is gold"

And true it seems for the present seems debris of cold.

Persuade all minds to establish peace

Or prepare, the doomsday is on the verge

Of coming and shall all hear the sound

Of brutal onslaught and see the souls

From the dead out to curse the remains.



A strong breeze hit the tree

That jerked the branches to and fro

And the leaves scattered in agony

Of loneliness. But the moment

Looked wonderous for the selfish

Wind, which collapsed more and more

Of these. Full of fear the growth

Takes place, sometimes that wind

Snatches the soul away, from the small

Bud that's never ever seen

The ray of the shining sun.

The sight of broken branches is horrifying

To the core and the wind

Even ravages the whole tree apart.

And whom do we pray

For the pains of those poor orphans

And those widows?

And whom do we pray

For the powers we need for striking

The evils away and live in peace?


home page


copyright deep cleveland llc, all rights reserved
comments: deepcleveland@hotmail.com