Praarthanaa: An Orison for Nepal
by W. J. Manares
the earth didn’t ask permission
it just sighed, shifted its bones
and the mountains – those holy, proud old things
shattered like cheap teacups dropped from a god’s hand.
dust hung thick as regret
choking the prayers still half-spoken
temples crumbled not from sin
but weight – too many years, too many lives
too much sky pressing down.
people dug with bare hands, nails torn raw
finding only silence where a child once laughed
where a home stood warm an hour before
now just stones, and cold, and the wind’s hollow laugh.
they said it was nature’s way
but nature doesn’t owe anyone an explanation
it doesn’t care about your flags, your gods, your plans
it just is – and when it moves, we’re all just dust
waiting to go back.
you see the news in a screen’s faint glow
click past, move on, forget by noon
but the ground there still trembles, still weeps
and thousands now walk the world
without a roof, a name, a place to belong.
we build our lives on rock, call it forever
as if the planet doesn’t dream of shaking us free
as if the peaks that lift our eyes to heaven
can’t turn and bury us in the same breath.
this is no grand, holy invocation
no plea for miracles, no fancy words
just: hold them close. keep them standing.
remind us all – while we bicker, while we waste
that every breath is borrowed, every home is temporary
and the only thing that doesn’t break
is how we cling to each other
when everything else falls apart.
***
Bio of the Poet: W. J. Manares is a one-of-a-kind writer and poet from Aklan, Philippines, authored more than 69 books and counting, a lesser-known worldbuilder and storyteller, and labelled as “the sardonic yet whimsical author of the Philippines” since 1999.
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