Lisa Choegyal
Valiantly the birds keep singing
But any ancient avatar taking a turn above the Kathmandu Valley
Skimming the clouds, cruising the thermals with kites and crows
Would be startled to see the changes wrought by prevailing ‘civilisation’
Gods, still lovingly smeared with red, adorned with gold, yoked with marigold garlands
Survey the wreckage from behind bars and bricks in their holy precincts
The purity of a single temple bell fades into the growl of bulldozers
As roaring engines attack the curve of terraced fields to rearrange the dark rich earth
Into deep trenches and harsh straight lines coated with concrete.
Not long ago, tender shoots pierced this fertile black soil
Residue of a primordial lake, drained by deities
A Licchavi stone carving, worn with weather, stood hidden in the fronds of ripening rice
Sacred snakes safeguarded the hallowed springs and secluded ponds
Now dry and desolate.
In my garden fireflies dance in the darkening day
The evening serenade of frogs and crickets competes with pumps and drills
Condemned soon to be a distant memory engulfed by the march of man
Brittle glittering lights wrap the party palace trees, a multi-coloured assault on the soft sunset
Jagged lightning divides the navy sky, thunder rumbles around the Valley rim
Now cluttered with broken roads, naked building sites invade ever higher into the forest lush
The river that ran free through alder roots and bamboo thickets
Now retained by unforgiving walls, choked with plastic and careless greed.
Nature and gods are drowning in this once-emerald Valley
Struggling with obliteration in a great grey ocean of creeping concrete
Relieved by precious few islands of green respite.
No space left amidst the debris of mud and dust that span the seasons
For goats to graze, cattle to wander,
For monkeys to forage, leopards to lurk, bats to dangle,
For rice to grow, vegetables to thrive
For birds to sing
Or even for beings like us to breathe and flourish.
