Every day bearing a basketful of light
The sun arrives at the bazaar
Before anybody else
And, alone, he displays his wares
On the floor.
In course of time the bazaar comes alive,
The customers getting lost
In the multiplicity of shops,
And the shops getting lost
In the midst of the jostling crowd.
In the evening the bazaar rises
After gulping down a bowlful of wine.
Men and women walking in single file
Follow the uphill trail
Their cheeks tinged red with contentment.
The sun, lagging behind
Puts back into the basket
The light that has remained unsold
Even after the daylong exhibition.
He puts the basket on his shoulder
And homeward plods his weary way,
The youthful sun of the morning
Turning old in the evening,
Despondent at heart
And averting his pale face.
With the departure of the sun
Darkness descends on the scene,
And solitude utters a shriek.
On reaching their respective homes
People empty their shopping bags
And exclaim: “Oh, this time too
The sun went clean out of our minds.”
Their hair stands on end
And they pass the night in total darkness
Muttering to themselves,
Turning and tossing on the bed.
Every day in this bazaar
The youthful sun comes to sell light,
And turning old,
He goes back broken-
Translated by Tirtha Raj Tuladhar
The Gift of Experience
10th Anniversary Anthology
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Home Pond
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The Bazaar
Keshav Man Shakya (Nepal)