conferences, or press events,
or talks, or being an important person.
I did get up today,
Washed my underwear, took a shower,
I went to yoga, ate dal-bhatt,
Bought some sanitary napkins,
Cleaned my bathroom, applied medicine
To the mange on my dog, gave a biscuit
To the deaf boy who lives down the lane.
I wrote some poetry. I ate some yogurt.
And frozen watermelon. Savored it
In the quietness of a summer afternoon.
What have I done for Nepal? Does it matter
When day by day, the world gets hotter?
Do all the great events, the democratic gatherings
Of great men (but no women),
The hub-hub of politicians, the grandiose
Posturing of public intellectuals,
Do all of this matter when day by day
We cut down our trees, pollute our air
With more gasoline, and raise the temperature?
THE GIFT OF A FROZEN WATERMELON
One day a great journalist,
With many great achievements,
Lots of enterprises, and a great deal
Of energy, said to me, annoyed:
What have you accomplished?
What have you done for Nepal?
As I sit in my garden,
eating frozen watermelon
I think about this question.
True enough, I haven’t started
any enterpreneurial venture,
Saved anybody’s life, or organized
Any forums of import. I’ve yet to support
a public strike, or walk down the street
throwing bricks at regressive forces.
I may indeed be part of the bourgeiousie
Although my sympathies lies with the world.
I lack (you may have inferred) social skills.
I like my garden more than I like
