An Old Rickshaw Puller / Arjun Dhungana

The sun of destiny flashed never

on his forehead,

never lit the lamppost of his heart undying

However,

with the eyes that glitter every moment

the old rickshaw puller, together with the dawn

arrives to be positioned before the Sahuni’s shop

and sings his song -

“The morning is arrived at your door

and so am I, with money in my pouch

let me have a cup of tea n’ fun

the road of being is hard to walk on

life is alive at this second,

in a moment, it may be dead”

The dawn that has come to road

by leaving the warm slumbers right at the beds

and is on a walk to paint colors around

asks the rickshaw puller as it sees him-

“will you take me to the college?”

“hey rickshaw, will you go to hospital?”

“rickshaw, going market?”

Many of those students might have completed their study

many of those patients might have recovered from their illness

and all of those shopping might have entered into homes,

but, how many people would know his name ?

How many times

would the wheels of the rickshaw have

revolved around the age of that work-hero,

the sun has turned whose body to coal tar

the flowing sweat has turned whose face to a drain,

and who, the whole day, carries the city arduously

by stretching the veins, elongated

Form forehead to calf

like a mess of power wire ?

By tying up the squares of roads that

are skipping on the music of chaos

together,

by taking the rushing shadows to their destinations,

being oneself the dust, in dust

converting oneself to mud, in mud,

attuning the khak khak khak of cough

with kat kat kat noise of rickshaw;

for what

would that rickshaw puller get his sweat spilled

more than the amount of water he drinks?

Where would be the home of that rickshaw puller

who, mocking the sun that sleeps under the rug of darkness

whispering to the insomniac stars that stare downwards,

plays with winds till midnight?

“dishonest, you became

numbers of potholes are there on the road

price of goods are hiking to burn

dishonest, you became

dishonest, you became

you take all, cash and the coin

you sell water, telling it wine

dishonest, you became

dishonest, you became

you took my heart, how did you mown?

where did you go leaving me alone ?

dishonest, you became

dishonest, you became”

Drunk at midnight

pulling the rickshaw leisurely,

to whom to listen

is this rickshaw puller singing his song?

........................................

(Translated from Nepali by Suman Pokhrel)

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