On a sunny August afternoon
in Kathmandu, I heard the whine of sirens.
Looking up from my laptop screen,
I saw ambulances careering up
the punctured streets
as the wounded city
continues to show
the ravages of its lost dreams
muffled by the canopy
of the uncertainties.
Broken limbs of hope
were all over the streets.
The scale of financial strain,
gigantic.
Despair, in some ways,
had just begun.
I slowly lowered by head
and closed my eyes.
The air above me was thick
with the spirit of the living dead.
“This is between you and me,”
my spirit said in a hushed voice suddenly.
The virus is ruthless but it will go away soon.
Don’t let it erode your core.
I opened my eyes and gradually
stood up from my chair
and in the distance I saw
a skinny chameleon
scratching itself in the Sun.
And nearby squirrels
were pampering themselves
on the branches of a guava tree.
They say time heals
a lot of wounds, a lot of wounds.
This time, it’s going to be difficult.
There are deep, systemic things
that we need to fix.
Time can’t fix it for us
and it never will.
Our future may hinge
on our ability
to heal the wounds ourselves
and don’t depend upon the time
to heal it for us, always.
Nepalese poet, Bhuwan Thapaliya is the author of four poetry collections. He is currently working on a fresh poetry collection, titled "The Marching Millions". His main theme often hinges around the globalization of love, hope, peace and universal solidarity. He has read his poetry across the country and abroad. His poems and articles have been widely published in various journals, newspapers and anthologies all over the world.