Heat
by Suman Pokhrel


Heat rises, surpassing its own extremes,
as if it has sworn not to descend
before making all the thermometers burst.

The wind, aloof, refuses to blow this way;
it’s gone off with the clouds, on a honeymoon,
leaving the rain behind.

The sun pours down utmost heat with its full might,
ruthlessly imposing its relentless reign
upon helpless lives.

It detaches the harmony between the human body and mind.
Man's body turns into a swamp.
Sweat fails to distinguish between skin and hair,
and soaks the entire body like a frenzied flood.
Thoughts, once confined to the head,
now seep down to the soles of the feet.

Sweat clings to the unwilling clothing,
binding it to the body like an unwanted embrace.
The man, living a lifelong hypocrisy,
curses the inventor of clothes.

Windows exist, yet they feel non-existent—
like the government of a failed nation.
Curtains hesitate, unsure whether to sway or remain still.

Walls feud each other like enemies,
as if they are about to collide in battle.
The room itself has gone mad,
unable to bear its own heat.

The bed radiates like a burning griddle.
The sweat-soaked sheet, unwilling to stay flattened,
clings desperately to the human body, trying to escape.

The ceiling fan, deeply frustrated—
like a powerless employee appointed as the acting chief—
scolds constantly while spinning in vain,
yet the heat utterly ignores it.

The table fan whirls endlessly from left to right,
nodding to every passerby’s grievances,
like an overworked, underpaid clerk in a government office.

Electricity has fled
to hide in the personal bank accounts of decision-makers.

The baby wails,
unable to suckle its mother in the suffocating heat.

The husband, his temper flaring from failed plans
and the unbearable heat,
pours his anger on his wife—
but for her, it’s no fiercer
than the heat she bears

The asphalt on the road simmers frantically,
amplifying the heat, pushing it beyond the edge of human tolerance.

Women, relieved from fieldwork,
unable to plant their crops due to the drought’s cruel grip,
gather unkempt beneath trees,
their clothes pulled up to catch the breeze.
A full-grown bull tethered nearby stares, curious,
do the women feel shame exposing their bodies only in winter?

The secrets of the bodies of so-called elite women,
once confined only to their mirrors,
have now become public under the pretense of the scorching heat

All the skills and enthusiasm of people
have clung to the stickiness of sweat.

Lovers steal glances from afar,
for the repulsion of the merciless heat stands between them,
stronger than desire, love, and lust combined.

The sun, obsessed with proving its dominance,
is further sharpening its reign,
and the arrogance of the heat is on an endless rise.

Yet despite it all,
every living thing remains certain—
coolness will surely prevail, defeating the heat.

Experience bears countless witnesses—
no tyrant, ruling cruelly, can stand for long.

...............

(Original work written in May 2004 as गर्मी [Garmi] in Nepali. Published in जीवनको छेउबाट Jeevanko Chheubaata , 2009, p. 3. Vani Prakashan, Biratnagar)
...............
Translated by the poet himself.