 MIN RATNA BAJRACHARYA |
behind the walls of an enclosed courtyard,
in a small three room house
there hangs on the wall, beneath neon
on only at noon, when the electricity is strongest,
a portrait of a king. He wears
a velour and golden cloak,
and stands like a well-tended tree
His gold crown is crafted
with diamonds. And emeralds
dangle like bangs across his brow
A bejeweled tassel tops it off
Not unlike a fountain
one poses in front of in a studio
in Darjeeling. Nowadays,
uncertain neon dapples his thighs,
as though the king cannot
decide to conceal (or lean more
heavily on) his ruler's
sword. His face, darkest, at midday;
his intentions, well-known
A curious water-stain, blood-soot
seeping from within.
bares it self to a closer look
As if an invisible hand
were finally knitting the eyes
and lips shut.
Kathmandu, 12/1980
