The Only Difference
In an aircraft,
I went to the toilsome foreign land.
And in an aircraft I have returned—but
There is a difference.
While going,
I was seated comfortably,
I saw jolly sceneries on the way,
I ate delicacies and talked sweet,
I even foretold the sermons of bright future.
When returning,
My eyes are shut now forever,
I have returned like a never awaking
Silent one in a deep slumber, my aspirations
All dead.
Relatives came to see me off
At the airport
When I went.
They have come to greet me
Even when I come today;
The only difference is that
When I went
They came to see me off with promises
And hopes to see me soon, and enjoy.
They had waved me the last goodbye.
I have retuned but I will never be able to
Speak and see those relatives again.
My old father had told me:
My youngest son—if I die
Come soon to burn me with
The cremation fire.
Oh father, I have returned
But not to cremate you into ashes,
But to cremate myself into ashes, by you.
Even when I went
There were tears in my sweetheart’s eyes,
The only difference is that
I could wipe those tears when I was leaving,
Now, I cannot.
I could speak with her before,
Now I cannot.
She had told me to come soon as I left,
I came soon, but the only difference is that
I was alive when I went,
Now, I am a corpse.
Bio of the Poet: Poet Abhiraj Khati Anjan (अभिराज खाती अन्जान), is from Makwanpur, Nepal. He currently lives in Kathmandu.
Note: This poem is translated into English by Sushant Thapa, Assistant Editor of Himalaya Diary.