Procession of Coloured Voices

Por: Tulasi Diwasa
Traductor: Abhi Subedi

Procession of Coloured Voices

Blue voices
Jumping down the sky
Float over the blue ocean
Red voices
Emitted by martyr's blood
Drying steadily
Spill over rhododendron petals
Yellow voices
Descending from the evening horizons
Are nesting
In the ordered layers of marigold
White voices
Melting out of the barricades of clouds
Freeze over the solid
High rise bosoms of Himalayas
Green voices
Startled,
Escape from the evergreen dense forest
Passing by the shaven mountain cliffs
And bare hills
Get uprooted with the tearless banks
Even from the agricultural land
Migrating down in green fluidity
Piling up green deposits
To the bottom of the sea
Black voices
Blemished by the mental pestilence,
Aridity of mind and fall of conscience
Are surging up in the flood
Of untamable darkness
Through the black tunnel-
The overflowing river of seething time
I
Who came out in search of a voice
Lost my own voice itself
In the melee of voices
And returned home
Utterly voiceless, quiet and lonely
After joining with respect
This procession of coloured voices
A colour game of holi played by time

Is this silent homecoming of mine
My attainment of the Buddhahood
Or a preparation for another grand renunciation!
Like this colourless indecision
I'm voicing a continuous voiceless decision.
 

Sun, Tree and Cobweb

Old sun
a splinter bounced from Time's mountain
perhaps a black spider
now
caught in the day's branches
knits consistently a web
drawing lines of demarcation
in the remaining time
even in that little yellow sky-
a falling splinter
blown down by the winds
to the crevice of the tree
growing within me!

From the small woods of the weeks and months
to the dense forests of centuries
tangled shafts of light--
loose, undulating,
some nestled in the smoky beams
and outside
straying around in thoughts
linger,
others stay huddled quietly
in some corner
where the left-over sky
sunk into the minds
bends!

The old sun
a splinter bounced from Time's mountain
perhaps a black spider
now
hanging from the day's branches kni
ts consistently a web
in the remaining time
drawing lines of demarcation
even in that little yellow sky-
a falling splinter
blown down by the winds
to the crevice of the tree
growing within me!

River and the Bodhi Tree

Nights, crest fallen
in the fight with the light,
jumping out unexpectedly
from the latticed windows and doors
opened up to welcome the light
have descended hurriedly to the street,
bands of darkness becoming--
now a black coat
now a gray coat
on top of black cap and black shoes,[1]
raising heads one hand high
in the day time
dauntless
are walking on the main street!
Seeing them
the pedestrians of light
consider them the floods
of a black river of molten tar
rising suddenly
and drifting by,
and they contemplate plans
to make a bright dam
of the unveiled beliefs!
At this instant
the traffic police
standing by the roadside like lampposts,
and thinking it
as the astray officers' procession
taken out on a national day
give signals to go ahead
before the green light coming!
In this manner
they are successfully completing
a hazardous journey on foot
at every crossing from here
with dignity.

Seeing all this
a bodhi tree,
I
quietly wait standing
on the fringe of New Road,
yes, standing quietly
like a walking stick!

[1] Nepali government officers' uniform.  They wear this uniform during the processions they are supposed take part in on occasions like the National Day celebration.

The Old Day

From the vast stretching green land of my mind
Up to the rows of elevating blue hills of thought
With the lengthening dark shadow of time-tree
In every successive evening
I wonder
How the old day climbs the hill
With a walking stick, now-a-days
Passing through the white wood
Of gray hair and beard of time!
And collecting the yellow sunrays
Scattered over the mountain vales and uncovered hills
Why does he offer the red flowers of his faith
To the sanctuary of mountain deity!
Still one more rock
To the heap of rocks again
Plucking the red sun itself instead
Not finding even a piece of rock again
Why does he go down
The growing slope of darkness!
And going round the white mountain of crystal rock
Collection the unsold items in the winnowing tray of sun
Closing the doors of the warehouse of the sunlight
Round the bends of the highway
Where time walks slowly on foot
As the light, gone dirty
Being caught in the net of darkness
Begins to crawl slowly
Slipping down the lamppost.
Burning a thin wick
In the small leaf plate of mind, a little
In the shrunken little murky sky
In my own chest
Searching out in the blue sky
The streets, trails and bends again
In the maze of blue, yellow
And red linings of raw threads
Suspended on the branchless bare tree
Of still iron and steel
Taking them as the poles of titepati and   [2] trees
Grouping for the lost end
By invoking the primordial mantra
And throwing around the uncooked magical rice
In the faith of finding some way out,
As if recalling something
Suddenly in the middle of the crossroad
Transforming himself into a road,
Entangled in the very thread of road itself,
Why does he himself get lost
At the bend of the level road of time again!

[2] These are the plants used by the shamans to drive away the evil spirits.

Jala Samadhi of Light

Owl
As if waking suddenly
Over the branch of night
Hiding black rosy dreams
Of the yellow sunset
Well before the red sunrise,
Opened the dilating
meditative but piercing eyes
And
Smearing unpolluted red soil [3]
Of the fresh light
Descending slowly from snowy peaks
To the meadows and low hills
And to the countryside
Shaking off the residue of sleep with wings
From the wood of the dark
Untiring singer of the warbling light
Drew the wild rooster closer
And said loudly in his ear--
'Light in darkness! Light in darkness!
You can no longer sing like this

The eternal song of the sun--
Sun can not be there all the time
It can not spread everywhere
Can not lodge with everyone
Can not be important to all
In the same way
Listen,
I'm saying this to you!'

Burnt at once
In this narrative
With the radiant amber
Of the resolute truth
Awakened in the darkness before time
Like the pure but little blemished light
From the blazing sky of the epic,
The rooster
Cutting with the sharp beak of his own pen
Pulled the sun suddenly
From out of his own
Everlasting epic saga
Unendingly written
And threw it out
To some other boundless horizon again
Shocked by the electric charge
Of this sudden
Unthinkable but
Actual incident
The owl closed his eyes even in the dark
And said to the rooster
With all humility --
"Oh dark-throated one [4]
You who drink up all the black poison
Of the darkness
I see
You are unbound Mahakala
Though tied with the rope of time
You are not one who only writes poems
But also a great epic poet
Who lives it out in life!'

On the other side,
At this moment of time
The rooster was staring
with unblinking eyes
Helplessly
At the defenceless sun
He'd thrown himself earlier
Into the sky
Into the fathomless sea of darkness,
Drowning and floating,
To tell the truth
The sun cut off from his own sky
Had long drowned into the night
Exhausted from swimming!                                          

[3]The floor is smeared with red unpolluted soil to purify it for holy practices.
[4] Lord Shiva is said to have drunk the deadly poison that came out of the churning of the ocean by the gods and demons, to save the world. The effect of the poison was so strong that his throat became blue or nil. So he is called nilakantha, or blue-throated deity. The poet changes this into kalkantha or 'dark-throated' to describe the state of drinking poison.

1  Tree: A Mental Picture

In the heart of Tapovan [5]
Standing for sometime
With the trees in ecstasy of meditation
And talking to them in the trees' idioms
Like a tree myself
A revelation came to me -
Eternal and ancient is the relationship
Between trees and mankind! 

So there's always
Some tree in man        
And a little man in tree,
But these days i find
The tree in man slowly
Turning pale and dying
Though the man in tree
Is green and alive!

And I find again
The man growing in a tree
Becoming taller than the tree
Growing in a man!

[5] A lovely wood for meditation near Kathmandu that also houses the Rajneesh Ashram

Tulasi Diwasa, is an eminent representative poet, writer, cultural expert and folklorist of Nepal. Born in Dhankuta, Nepal in 1941. Area of Specialization: Folklore, Culture and Literature. He has been Professional Associate, Communication Institute, East-West Centre, Hawaii, U.S. (1974); Visiting  Researcher, Gakushuin University, Tokyo (1976-77);  Japan Foundation Professional Fellow, Japan, (1977); Professional Research Associate, Cultural learning Institute, East West Centre Hawaii, U.S. (1978); British Council Visiting Fellow (1986); Visiting Professor, Tokyo University of Foreign Studies (1996); Visiting  Researcher, National Museum of Ethnology, Osaka, and Senior Japan Foundation Professional Fellow (1996-97); Cultural Consultant, Finland Embassy, Kathmandu, (1999); Chairman and Executive Director, Nepali Folklore and Folk life Study Project, Kathmandu (2005-); Member, National Cultural Policy Committee, Ministry of Culture, Government of Nepal (2010-11); Cultural Advisor, Story Heritage of Asia, Asian Culture Complex of the Hub City of Asian Culture, Gwangju ( 2011 – 2013), Team Leader, Nepali Folklore, Folk life and Intangible Cultural Heritage Study Project (2011- ).

He has served as the Member of the Nepal Academy (twice), Kathmandu (1970-78); Professor of Folklore and Literature at Padma Kanya Multiple Campus and Tri-Chandra Multiple Campus, Tribhuvan University(1965-99); Cultural Counselor in Nepalese Embassy, New Delhi (1987-91). He is Founder Member of the Popular Cultural Society of Asia and Pacific Region, Hawaii (1974); Founder President of Creative Writers Society of Nepal (SISASA) 1982; Founder President of Nepali Folklore Society, (1995- ); Life Member, Nepal Academy (1996- ); Member, International Committee, World  Congress of  Poets, U.S. (1999- ) and Advisor, National Museum of  Ethnology, Kathmandu, ( 2012- ).

He is Winner of the Poetry Prize (1961). He received the Folk-Song Gold Medal (1962), Academy Award for Poetry (1963), Folk Dance Gold medal (1964),  Folk Literature Award (1983),  SuprabalGorkhaDakshinBahu Order (1983),  Dinkar International Literary Award, New Delhi (1988);  Eminent International Poet Award, Madras (1989); Bishwonagari Award-1999 (International award for promotion of Nagari script), New Delhi; National Talent Award (Culture), Ministry of Culture, Nepal Govt. (2002); International Literary Award with the title of "Sahitya Shiromani",  Lucknow, India (March 2013); "Bhanu-Samman" Award from International Nepali Literary Society (INLS),  Washington D.C., U.S. (July 2013).

Several books on Nepali culture, folklore and literature have been published to his credit.  Major publications include—Nepali Lok Katha  ('Folk Tales of Nepal', Nepal Academy (N.A.), Kathmandu, 1975); Nepali Lok Katha: KehiAdhyayan ('Some Studies in Nepalese Folk Tales', N.A., 1976);  Dhimal: PradarshankariLokSanskriti ('Folk Performing Culture of Dhimal People', N.A.), 1978;  DhimalLokdharmaraSanskriti ('Dhimal Folk Religion and Culture', N.A., 1983);  Tulasi DiwasakaKavita (Poems of Tulasi Diwasa), Nepal Academy, Kathmandu, 1984); Folk Tales from Nepal (New Delhi, 1992); Tulasi Diwasa kiKavitayen (Tulasi Diwasa's selected poems), New Delhi, 1997.