kafkaintherun
who tells the birds where to fly?
Author: naharchowck
-
For the following hundred and fifty years, the Guti ruled Mesopotamia in misery; it can be called a dark age. There is little written record or art from this time, and the ones found are unsophisticated. The Guti showed little concern for maintaining agriculture, written records, or public safety.
-
One man would soon lead them to outright rebellion against Sumerian Empire. He would go down history as Sargon, which in Akkadian means “one true king”. He would usher in the twilight of the Sumerian age.
-
Another Sumerian city, Ur gradually replaced Uruk as the center of Mesopotamia in the first centuries of the next millennium. It would flourish into realms of untold wealth pushing the boundaries of what humanity thought was possible.
-
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.
-
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.
-
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?
-
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…
-
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।
-
म माटो थिएँ- जहाँ हरेक चोट इतिहास बनेर उम्रन्थ्यो। म मौन रहँदा- तिमीहरूले सम्झियौ म कमजोर छु; भुल्यौ- म धैर्य हुँ म विस्मरण होइन।
-
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।
-
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।
-
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।”
-
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.
-
हरेक शब्दमा, बिस्ट्याउँछौं, एके-४७ का बारुदहरू, हरेक भावहरू, ओतप्रोत हुन्छन्, लोभले, ईर्ष्या ले, घिनले, घमन्डले, अनि खोक्रो आत्मसम्मानले, थाह छैन- कसैलाई, कर्मको, बुद्धको मर्मको, को छ हिँडेको- साँच्चीकै, बुद्धले देखाएको बाटोमा?
-
भुपी, हिजो तिमीले तिम्रो चोकमा रोग, भोक र शोक देख्यौ, “देशको नाभी” त्यही चोकमा आज धेरै थोक थपिएको छ। ती चोकहरूका भित्तामा, पुरुषहरूले इतिहास लेख्दै गर्दा, टाउकोमा पानीको घाम बोकेर कविताको छायाँ बनेर बाँचिरहेकी मानुषी देखेनौँ, उसको शरीर देखेनौँ, उसको आत्माको चित्कार के तिमीले देख्यौ त्यो चोकको छेउमा चुपचाप टोलाउँदी मानुषी? उसको स्वर तिम्रा कविताबाट…
-
हामी: धुलो र इच्छाको द्वन्द्व। दुई आत्माहरू – भाँचिएका, प्रतिबिम्बित, न पूरै, न हराएका।
-
जसलाई कहिल्यै घडीले देखाउँदैन, तर सँधै आकाशले नियालिरहन्छ। आकाश खुल्ला थियो– हावासँगको असमझदारी जारी थियो, त्यो मौन बगैंचामा स्मृतिको। उसको गुलाबी गालामा बादल बिसाएझैँ लाग्थ्यो, जहाँ सूर्य अस्ताउँदै थियो– तर सामान्य अस्त होइन– हाम्रो सम्बन्धको अन्तिम उज्यालो।
-
For a brief window in time, Nepal didn’t just host the global counterculture- it shaped its myth. Kathmandu became a meeting point between ancient ritual and Western rebellion, between spiritual tradition and psychedelic experimentation. It wasn’t always harmonious, but it was undeniably transformative. Kathmandu offered something profoundly different- space to breathe, reflect, and heal.
-
नियात्रा: प्रश्न: के देख्यो? उत्तर: सानो मूसो। झम्टियो-मर्यो-खायो, रानी-लन्डन? हु केयर्स! देख्यो- सके जति गर्यो- सक्ने जति बाँधिएको- चेतना, विवेक, चाहना, आशक्ति, कर्म-फेट, ह्वाटईभर!
-
blue, something about you, woke up with thoughts of you, crossed my mind as the storms come through, chaos and calm, bliss and peace, starry nights, and northern lights, folded dreams, holy grails, loud laughs and little blushes, sunset hues- a little close/closer to blue, sweet loving hell- you get me through.
- Articles (23)
- English (23)
- English Poetry (8)
- History (12)
- Letters (3)
- Monologues (6)
- Musings (24)
- Nepali (44)
- Nepali literature (39)
- Nepali Poetry (38)
- Poetry (44)
- Ramblings (36)
- Science (7)
- Stories (2)
- December 2025 (4)
- November 2025 (6)
- October 2025 (6)
- September 2025 (2)
- August 2025 (7)
- July 2025 (3)
- June 2025 (4)
- May 2025 (4)
- April 2025 (27)
- March 2025 (6)
- December 2024 (1)
- October 2024 (1)
- September 2024 (1)
- March 2023 (1)
- February 2023 (1)
Akkad (5) Biology (5) hinduism (6) History (9) life (3) literature (48) little poems (3) love (7) love poems (5) Mesopotamia (6) muse (21) Musing (19) Nepal (27) Nepali (5) Nepali Poetry (5) nepali politics (15) Nepali Society (4) New York (10) nostalgia (4) Poetry (45) random musing (27) romance (8) romantic (5) Science (5) Sumer (7) Writing (32) कविता (5) नेपाल (32) नेपाली कविता (13) नेपाली राजनीति (3)
who tells the birds where to fly?
© 2025 all rights reserved. Designed with WordPress.
kafkaintherun 