Saran Rai's Poetry

  Dissolution Saran Rai I exist till today. No, I still exist. Will I live until tomorrow, or even just for the next few moments—will I still be breathing or not? As these thoughts linger, I cross the road. They call it modern invention! Vehicles that adapt—driving, flying, floating—spanning the roads, skies, and seas! A young woman, wearing a golden half-mask like a fairy from the movies, suddenly collides into me with a thud. The moment she crashes into me, I dissolve into her. The surrender of the body! Perhaps it was really her? I didn’t even get the chance to think.

  The Nose Stud Saran Rai Among the jewelry stored in the locker, seeing the nose stud pierces my heart. The nose stud had adorned my wife’s nose throughout her life—before our marriage, after it, and even until her final moments. Other pieces of jewelry were pawned when times were hard. Some were even lost because we couldn’t repay the loans. But the nose stud always stayed on her nose. When she was critically ill and admitted to the ICU, a feeding tube was inserted through the hole beneath the nose ring. Even in her unconscious state, she tugged at the tube and pulled it out. At that time, an attempt was made to remove the nose stud to place the tube properly, but it couldn’t be taken off. And until her death, the nose stud  stayed on her nose. I had promised her that I would replace that nose stud with a diamond one. But I couldn’t fulfill that promise. She never asked for it either. And that nose stud always stayed on her nose. The nose stud! Just as i...

  Short Story: Home Author: Saran Rai After attending a grand event, carrying a bundle of joy in my heart, I am returning home late in the evening. Whom should I give this bundle of joy? Whom should I share it with? It is beginning to rot and wither, trapped within my heart. A habit of forty-one years pulls me towards home—the habit of rushing back. But now, there is no wife at home to share the joys and sorrows of the day. A solitary life... In my haste to reach home, my steps falter unexpectedly. Something stirs and swells within me. My late wife’s desire was always: “I want you to remain happy and joyful forever.” Resolving to fulfill that wish, I had set out this morning—dressed neatly in new clothes, making an effort to look cheerful and happy. All day, amidst people, I appeared joyful and content. But now, I don’t feel like going home. The house, where my wife no longer exists but her memories linger... My steps and heart falter—where should I go? Wherever I go, t...

  ‘Never got rid of the Yoke from the Shoulder’ (काँधको जुँवा फाल्न सकिएन)    Saran Rai     ‘Namlo’ from the forehead  Yoke from the shoulder and loads of the donkey  Never got rid of Tiny holes of the life/heart  Have grown larger to that extent  Never been able to patch  To maintain a little breath of life  Had to be a bird, had to be a mouse  Had to be a bull, and donkey   Could never been an elephant  Could never been a lion  ‘Namlo’ from the head,  yoke from the shoulder never got rid of  It was said that it’s merely a stomach but … could never fed enough.    🌹  Translated by Pancha Vismrit  🌹🌹    Note: Namlo: is a kind of band especially made from jute thread, used to place around one’s forehead when carrying loads on the back.       

  Flower that withers   Saran Rai Translation- Bidur Rai   Drifting away was life Rolling off was life with stairs of flights Where, how and when did life get punctored ? Clipped was the pinion of my mind that sailed away How it flies away ? It stops rolling It stops flowering . Like over the unstoppable dales, uphill and steep It Stands, and it drifts Falling, staggering and still regaining consciousness Yet again blooming in a perpetual journey Life ,I sweer, is short lived It was life that withers like a flower .   Mdhupark ,2068, kartik   ओंइलिने फूल   सरण राई   चलिरहेकै थियो जिन्दगी गुडिरहेकै, उडिरहेकै थियो जिन्दगी कहाँ , कसरी कहिले पन्चर भयो कसरी उडने मनको पखेटा काटियो गुड्रन छाडेको छ फुल्न छाडेको छ परिवर्तनशील उकाली, ओंराली र भिराली पछारिएर फेरि जुर्मुराएर उठ्ने, गुड्ने, उड्ने निरन्तर यात्रामा फुलिरहने अजम्बरी होइन— ओंइलिने फूल नै जीवन थियो ।   मधुपर्क २०६८ कातिक        

  A part of Saran Rai's poem     Man an eternal mystery- And life a riddle, queries endless Is that why to live so sweet? On you live and live The taste,ah,keeps on oozing! ... Life whets hunger Pleasing- ever so soothing! But to taste life Its flavor and all Thousand birth falls too short.    --Translated by Madhukar Suvedi