Poetry:
Keshab Sigdel
Border
When a river that is flowing incessantly
In a meditating gesture
Is humiliated before the custody of time
Being dragged by its collar
What will the river do
To gather the proof of its origin?
The river knows it well
Even if it reaches its origin
Its navel is connected to the Himalaya
The rocks in the Himalaya know it well
The sky quenches them with rain and snow
The sky knows it well
Immersed in the ocean are the vapor and the thunder
That produces the cloud
In pursuit of its origin
When the river reaches--
The Himalaya,
The Sky,
The Ocean,
Those people who are dismantling the borders:
Will they be able to measure the volume of the snow?
Can they determine the borders of the sky?
Or, will they settle the frontiers in the tide of the ocean?
You need not remind the river
Its dharma
It will continue to flow
Until infinity
But, when comes a day
Where the river is forced to flow back to its source
In order to justify its origin
Then the river
Will turn into thousand veins
To roll the blood in our bodies
And only after all those veins are slit
A new borderline will be drawn on this earth.
Translation: Poet Himself
