who tells the birds where to fly?
I do not buy the ticket. I keep the boy a boy, I keep the tree, and the light switch exactly where my hand remembers. I keep a house where the hinge still complains. I keep a lane the rain has not yet hardened. I keep my mother's voice in the next room, counting something, never finished counting.
तर म जान्दछु, म पुग्दा मेरो घरले मलाई चिन्ने छैन। भित्ता पोतिएको हुनेछ। चौखटले मलाई नचिनी बस्नेछ। चुकुल अहिले कसैले तेल हालिसक्यो होला। बत्तीको स्विच अर्कैको हातले भेट्टाउने छ। र म उभिनेछु, पाहुना भएर, आफ्नै आँगनमा।
A poem about loving the letter more than the sending - and the letter that goes out everywhere but to you.
The Saxons had a phrase for the ruins the Romans left behind: enta geweorc — the work of giants. Standing before stone arches no living craftsman could replicate, they could not bring themselves to believe a human hand had laid them. They were right to be humbled. Rome ruled Britain for nearly four hundred years, from 43 to 410 CE. What it built, and what it abandoned, shaped this island for a…
Oh, the wind is a thief and the mountains are tall, And I’m just a witness to the rise and the fall. I’m tracing the shadows where the memory stays, Trading my tomorrows for my yesterdays.