lirik lagu jeevan thing – i, a hippopotamus of bethlehem city
this is the tale of a time after
cutting the hands off, and giving them away
a tale of the time of transposing into a tree
standing on a hill after having rummaged heart and soul
looking at the receding sun
and shedding a pair of tears
i have become a statue
with a corolla of orchid, sucked dry by caterpillars
the dead lights from the eyes of buddha in meditative pose
is my lofty sky at present
it is a wind, that has conveyed to my heart
a dream guised as deurali-
to impede my rise with raised shoulders and palms
do not you remind me of life anymore
i am scared with life
because i have seen
not just one, but innumerable of its definitions
stripped in eyes like eucalyptus
like the history of a panoramic rice paddy
my eyes shiver in cold like minotsa
i am these days, enflamed by my promise
taken back, when failing to settle myself
in the drive of these gusty feelings
i set out to borrow some light from buddha’s eyes
and saw kanchenjungha
prostrating like me in front of him, crying
these promises ache as wounds sometimes
yet, this is the story
of returning, after reaching the threshold!
story of time, when i asked
standing on the palms that developed in the sky
like the violin of nero hung in museum
with personal oldness crushed to dust
and woven on heads of suspicion
dangling down from a nail
once again after crying all the tears out
beside the wounds that peel off and ache
this is the tale of a perishing life!
amid dreams sizzled in gas chambers
i have a nation –
a nation of dreams
i declare and drink the tale of my nation
there is a boundary of mountains
beside the gathering of salamanders
and apart from the attempts of crabs
there are ‘bars’ on roadsides
and one thing – the bars have red eyes
with thick cloud on those red eyes
with the drops of sweats mounted on the bruised foreheads
and with shrouds of feelings wailing in this stillness
we walk to and fro
morning comes here
singing on leaves the song of tears
at midday, over the bends
the winds wail frenzied and stirred –
throughout the evening, the bending junipers
hold their heads low
every night the stars
await the morning, carrying their own corpses
this is a scarecrow’s history
the city of the scarecrows / a country of disgrace!
the decree of a life-sentence
the impediment along a flowing river
the hippopotamuses of bethlehem city
my boiled story, my mehrunissah
my country!
taking my ancestor’s form
i consume
the vacant dreams of misfortune
the metamorphosed caterpillars
twinkling like the galaxy
and the descending impediments
standing on the bank
my breathing country is looking
at the gleaming wind
that washes with frost and dews
the ravenous lips of sand
the diligent hands of the juvenile sun
in my room’s morning, tired of group copulation
the fingers that knock heaven
and the fingers that knock h-ll
with bodies that wake up, enmeshed and feeble
this is the tale of a time after
cutting the hands off, and giving them away
a tale of the time of transposing into a tree
standing on a hill after having rummaged heart and soul
looking at the receding sun
and shedding a pair of tears
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