Born to fight- Purna Viram
Notwithstanding the garden fenced with barbed-wire
Germs with the air have found their way into it
Notwithstanding the vigilant eyes watchinjg the sweet-smelling rose
Deceiving the eyes, dangerous germs have hidden in
Some petals of the sweet-smelling rose
Germs have surely
Subtly harmed the sweet-smelling rose petals
Life-long we should be carrying a pesticide box
What to talk only of public fight being fought with a gun
We should even be fighting against the dew-drop
Germinated on our own heads
For the ones like us, born to fight
No moment sees drawing of a line called cease-fire
Even when the lips send out a sigh
We should be fighting against those very lips
Fighting we should be a fight of biting with our own teeth
We, the ones who are born to fight,
Should be fighting till death arrives.

Notwithstanding the resolution to take the ship
To a harbor of felicity
Without stopping it at myriad harbors of sorrow
The captain will have to stop the ship
Momentarily at the sorrowful harbor
The captain will have to digest the sorrow rampant from top to toe
Inhaling stale air in place of the fresh,
Suffocating of many days,
The captain has borne horrible torture
To take everyone to the harbor of felicity
It behooves the captain to fight such a fight.
To the extent the fire divides its payas1
And disseminates spring on human lips
A possibility for a slight inequity exists
Then it may be that our own voice sings
A long resonating song of unfairness:
We should be fighting against our own voice
The feet running to pour ice on the fire
We might ourselves be carrying with us
Against such feet
We should life-long be fighting.

Into heart saturated already with a sense of sacrifice
Unknowingly, staking its own self-respect,
May penetrate the worthless heart-beats,
Fit for animal life,
At such a time
Should we fight against our own heart-beats
Fighting we should be a fight
Of scratching our own heart for the ones like us, born to fight
Never will in any moment be drawn
The straight line called ceasefire
We, the ones born to fight,
Should be fighting and fighting till death arrives.
(2055/01/03)
(From an anthology, Poems of the People’s War, published by Ichchhuk Cultural Academy)
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1. Rice pudding
विज्ञापनहरु