गाउँको दूरदराजदेखि काठमाडौंको सिंहदरबारसम्म

The road—
an immortal work of art,
the dearest highway
of known and unknown images.

The tasteless waiting of the street-food vendor,
the restless eyes of the pickpocket,
the bitter life story of the chili seller,
the parade of illnesses marching with the morning walkers—
the road has become
a celebrated storyteller,
writing page after page of human tales.

The ceaseless grumbling of e-rickshaws,
the intoxicated roar of tipper trucks,
the untimely lament of tractors,
the protests staged to settle domestic feuds—
all become
the road’s burning headlines.

With feet planted
upon crowds and clamour,
unceasing travellers
measure their destinations
by the fragile thread of breath.

Along the roadside
lie fish prepared to be sold in death;
there stand people
prepared to sell themselves while still alive.
There are peeled tobacco sachets,
displaying cancer-stained cheeks;
there are thorny hedges,
standing ready to pierce,
because life itself
never found the chance to bloom.

The road
carries a bruised chest,
trying to appear flawless
beneath a coating of asphalt;
it leads onward
the rogue footsteps
of street-bred emotions.

The human crowd
becomes a Human Road—
a highway woven
from flesh and bone.

The concrete road
clings to the Human Road,
kisses it,
suddenly throws people to the ground,
hastily lifts them again,
and leaves skulls shattered.

The Human Road
beats on—
halting, moving,
its pulse never still;
eyes burdened with dreams
glance upward,
if only for a fleeting moment.

An unease grips me—

Walking this Human Road,
I keep trying
to write
the poem of humanity.

— Umesh Luitel

(Translated from the Nepali poem by Umesh Luitel)