kafkaintherun
who tells the birds where to fly?
Lens at Work:
A Day in Chinatown, Manhattan New York.
Recent Posts
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The City of Uruk: The First Metropolis Where Humans Found their First Letters.
In the clay-bricked alleys of ancient Mesopotamia, a city of beer, bureaucracy, and myth gave the world its first written word- and its first great story.
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From Flood to Fields: How Eridu Turned Desert into Civilization
In the beginning there was a great flood. Eridu was not built on conquest but on survival. After the flood, humans reshaped the desert with canals and clay, turning scarcity into storage, and floodplains into farms. It was here, in southern Mesopotamia, that the idea of civilization first took root.
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लव-कुशको नागरिकता।
म सीता, म माटोकी छोरी, अझै वनवासी, अझै प्रश्नवाची। कहिले जनकपुर, कहिले अयोध्या, कहिले वनवास, कहिले ऋषिको कुटी; म कहिल्यै घरकी भइन। कसरी प्रमाणित गरूँ – म यही माटोकी छोरी? कसरी देखाउँ तिमीलाई – मेरो गर्भमा हुर्किएको पीडा?
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Between Two Rivers: How Rain, Rock, and Myth Gave Birth to Civilization.
The vast floodplain of Tigris and Euphrates is simply known as Iraq or Bilad al-Rafidyan in Arabic meaning the land of the two rivers. We know the land and people of the ancient time more commonly by Greek name, Mesopotamia; Mesos meaning between and Potamus meaning river. For thousands of years, the two great rivers…
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घाम र फूलको प्रेम गीत।
उसका पातहरूमा – लेखिएका छन् घामका अक्षर। उसको मुटुमा – कुँदिएका छन् घामकै छायाँ। उसको गन्धमा – घुलिएका छन् घामको सम्झना। उ देखिएन भने पनि बाँच्छ, उ बुझिएन भने पनि बोल्छ।
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म प्रश्न सोध्ने माटो।
म माटो थिएँ- जहाँ हरेक चोट इतिहास बनेर उम्रन्थ्यो। म मौन रहँदा- तिमीहरूले सम्झियौ म कमजोर छु; भुल्यौ- म धैर्य हुँ म विस्मरण होइन।
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देश हराएको सपना
म पनि- सपना देख्थें देशको, नक्शा होइन, अनुहार भएको देश। जहाँ कविले बन्दुक होइन, कलम बोकेर गर्थे प्रतिवाद। जहाँ सपना- सिर्जनाको गर्भ, सिर्जना- विद्रोहको आवाज। तर मेरो सपना हरायो! हरायो- काठमाडौंको कन्क्रिट क्यानभासमा। जहाँ सडक चिल्लिन्छ र सपना चिप्लिन्छ।
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म थर नभएको आत्मा।
म थरबाट जन्मिएँ – तर थर कहिल्यै मेरो थिएन। त्यो बुवाको थर थियो, बुबाको पनि, हरेक बुबाहरूको इतिहासमा मातृकुल हराइरहेको प्रमाण। किनभने – म होइन, मेरो थर पो थियो यस देशको नागरिता।
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परम्पराको कारागार
ऊ गलत जन्मिएको हो, ऊ पसिना भएर बाँच्छ, उसको नाम गलत, जात गलत, रगत गलत, छायाँ अपवित्र। आफूले बनाएको मुर्ती सजिएको मन्दिरको, ढोकामा परम्पराले लेखिदिएको छ – “अछुतलाई प्रवेश निषेध।”
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echoes of faded love.
stay, alive in my head a little longer. stay, so that I may go on writing poems against forgetting. stay, so, I may keep on living fighting for surviving.
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who tells the birds where to fly?
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