And Icarus falls again

Facing the door
He runs towards the window
Staring at the polluted sky
His heart choking
A big bang
Remains scattered on the floor
The Icarus falls again
Not from the sun’s heat
But from its own heartbeats.
I couldn’t sleep till 5 a.m.
But then I was roaming the dark, silent streets of Thamel—
Icarus falls again—
Staring at the dark souls—
Running towards the broken edges of this city
And Icarus falls again
Between midnight and 5 a.m.
The time when the sun begins to poke this soul
Foolishly
I can feel the winds growling outside my heart
I close the door.
They throw tantrums. I plug my ears with earphones.
I shut my ears and become a lotus-eater.
I shut my eyes, and the world drops dead.
Boom. And the Icarus falls again.
From dream.
From sleep.
From chaos.
From the deep pangs of darkness and drunkenness.
From the tremors of loneliness.
And the Icarus falls again—
Waiting for Spring and Summer
To forget its fall.
I can’t wait until 5 a.m. today
I shut my ears, and the world drops dead.
— Arun Budhathoki.

Thamel

Boring-mail, Boring-mail
With the lights gone out in the slumbering sky
The travel from Shantinagar to Ratnapark is 1 hour
Blame the bloody traffic!
That makes Kathmandu a dull beatific dungeon
That everyone wants to escape from—
I heard people even ship their photos to the northern wilderness
Hoping someone would invite them for a cup of cold ambrosia
Somewhere in the unknown future
(only bones will be transported)
And then in front of the Full Circle
The dimwit lionizes us sarcastically—
We curse him and show the middle finger dreamingly
And rush to a cramped place
Drinking freaking expensive liquor and dancing in a cubicle
Where men spread everywhere like a virus
While women in few numbers linger here and there
Like a chained butterfly,
As we walk around Jamal and Durbarmarg
Our variegated visions try to measure the future of the nation
And flee from those who long to osculate us for money
And flee from the flickering apparition of the nation
Where it promises to not do anything
But just shake its decaying hips against the bleak noises of
Boring-mail, boring-mail.

Note: ignore the mediocre details (not revealed)

Musings on Buddha Bar

How was it like to drink in Buddha Bar, Thamel? I always thought. I had drank two glasses of Old Durbar at home around 4 pm. After that I walked away from home; it was a surreal experience like walking away from your own true image. So I had walked away from…I don’t know what…my mind was already on the rocks and I was mesmerized by Beyoncé’s 7/11. She had taught me well to not drop my drinks. I hadn’t, ever. But I had couple of times. When I reached Basantapur as usual I saw my mate sitting pensively. I told him let’s go and have a drink. He was reluctant but I managed to convince him. So we reached the Buddha Bar. It was freaking expensive. So we drank a glass of 60ml vodka. We ate too and looked around.

I saw few people. I saw few people who smoked away their lives. I saw their traumas, pains, and insecurities strongly painted beneath their toxic, drunkard eyes. But what is scarier than having a toxic heart, mind and soul? But does it matter if someone sells away themselves…say…to survive? Does it even matter how we survive or how we die? We talked about what it meant to love someone and what it meant to be with someone and not love at all. The drinks were not strong enough for me but I saw a girl laughing as if she was using a megaphone. Then I saw four girls doing smoke-kissing. You know hookah? Imagine now. I thought deeply that as individuals we are not even ourselves. We are forced to become a part of a ritual; a ceremony, and then coerced to compromise with the real meaning of being alive in life. So I told myself to stop thinking as a foreign girl continued to look at me. I thought she was from Pakistan or from somewhere. I thought again why we aspire to acquire someone when we are unable to acquire ourselves.

She looked at me again and I thought she fell for me. Back in my head I was saying: Kathmandu girls are weird as shit. People are weird and messed up.

I asked myself: Have you owned yourself? I replied nah. But I have owned this drink or this drink have owned me to a certain extent. Sometimes I am striving to run away from a void but only to fill up that void with something else. In the end I thought life is but void but we continue to fill it up with something we feel is right.

While returning home I thought we strive to maintain our relevancy and sometimes to hide our void we fill it up with things we think are right for us.

Last night we owned nothing and lost nothing. Neither did we reveal our void state. We filled it up with talks and a good moment. I guess that’s all important in life–to be able to talk and enjoy the moment.