Geet Govinda
acrylic on canvas
Thursday, December 15, 2016
KITES
It is difficult to write a poem,
especially in a winter morning,
when you have your hands tucked in a warm quilt
and they refuse to come out.
It is difficult
when your mind wanders to too many things and places,
and the television and the internet feed you with news
of hunger and hatred.
What good is a poem,
when poems are just words in black and white,
and no one has time to read them.
What good is a poem,
when the world has gone
superficial and gaudy ,
like those selfies
created over applications
that claim to make you look beautiful.
My poetry rusts in my soul,
and my heart is parched,
almost like those Dashain skies with absolutely no kites. Chirag
Bangdel
Thursday, September 1, 2016
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