कविता
Please take our photo, uncle.
Children, who looked like budding faces of aspirations,
spoke to me, their voice had an aura of hope and brightness.
I made them stand in a row
and took their photo.
I looked at the photo
and at them.
But in the photo
missing was the lustre
that was in their eyes;
missing was their smile
and the colour of it;
missing was the voice of their heart
and the purity and warmth.
In the photo
there were some figures
and merely a photo.
I took the photo
but couldn’t portray
the inspiring
beauty of their life.
Perhaps none can do it
Translator: Mahesh Paudyal
Bhisma Upreti, Kathmandu
[email protected]
