Mother cuts each morning
with the edges of a sickle
With all her strength she ties life
onto a heap of grass
then lays it down
in front of the hunger of cattle
While milking cows, in each stream
She sees the white teeth
of laughing children
she is puzzled by the way pots and plates stare
at herself, ablaze at the stove
Sorrows appear before her
and dance rhythmically
She just keeps gazing at them
Silent words
She gathers for her unmarried daughter
She wants to hide the moon rising in the sky
in the folds of her clothes -
a snack to erase the bitter hunger
sharpened by loneliness
Memories of her son gone abroad
become a thousand days and vanish
Each time, mother plants seeds of hope
In the folds of forty year - old scarcity
But these seeds never get it grow
It can't be said when he'll return
To fix the broken dam in her heart-
Her son gone abroad
Translated by:
Manjushree
Thapa
