sajan-koirala - Hello Poetry

I am Sindhu, I sowed life in the soil of Mohenjo-Daro, Carrying the laughter of Harappa in my waves, I scattered the first seeds of civilization. Cities of brick, wells of water, Dreams that bloomed in my lap. But look, time betrayed me, My waters dried, Harappa fell silent, Mohenjo-Daro was buried beneath the earth, Human greed crushed the environment. Now filth flows in my waves, The pride of civilization weeps in silence. I, Sindhu, stand today with a question, Whom shall I blame for this destruction?

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Apr 4, 2025

Apr 4, 2025 at 1:40 AM UTC

I AM SINDU

I am Sindhu, I sowed life in the soil of Mohenjo-Daro, Carrying the laughter of Harappa in my waves, I scattered the first seeds of civilization. Cities of brick, wells of water, Dreams that bloomed in my lap. But look, time betrayed me, My waters dried, Harappa fell silent, Mohenjo-Daro was buried beneath the earth, Human greed crushed the environment. Now filth flows in my waves, The pride of civilization weeps in silence. I, Sindhu, stand today with a question, Whom shall I blame for this destruction?

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My breath slows down When I open my eyes, My eyes see the world That lies with me, Deep and deep, No misery. Suddenly, my eyes wake, With my consciousness, Everything with me, and I with everything. My breath slows down When I open my eyes, My eyes see the world That vibrates with me, Deep and deep... The cosmos brings me, and I bring the cosmos, I play with my emotions, And emotions play with me, I play until my last breath. My breath slows down When I open my eyes, My eyes see the song That plays with me, Deep and deep, No misery. I see beautiful lies within beauty, I see complete lies within the incomplete, While everyone searches for bliss, I see bliss in them. My breath slows down When I open my eyes, My eyes see the bliss That lies with me, Deep and deep, No misery, Deep and deep, No misery.

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Mar 25, 2025

Mar 25, 2025 at 2:28 AM UTC

conscious

My breath slows down When I open my eyes, My eyes see the world That lies with me, Deep and deep, No misery. Suddenly, my eyes wake, With my consciousness, Everything with me, and I with everything. My breath slows down When I open my eyes, My eyes see the world That vibrates with me, Deep and deep... The cosmos brings me, and I bring the cosmos, I play with my emotions, And emotions play with me, I play until my last breath. My breath slows down When I open my eyes, My eyes see the song That plays with me, Deep and deep, No misery. I see beautiful lies within beauty, I see complete lies within the incomplete, While everyone searches for bliss, I see bliss in them. My breath slows down When I open my eyes, My eyes see the bliss That lies with me, Deep and deep, No misery, Deep and deep, No misery.

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I Am Showing the Picture of a Poem From the infinite ocean flowing in nature, With the spoon of my senses, I scoop it out— It has no color, no scent, No religion, no language, Made manifest by senses and emotions from the unexpressed, Soaked in science, philosophy, psychology, and sociology, Adorned by art and literature— That poem which has birthed countless poets, And will keep giving birth to more, Yet no poet ever gave it birth. I am showing the picture of a poem, It becomes what the poet’s consciousness shapes it to be, It flows as the current of emotions drives it— It holds no single essence, Yet from it flow all nine rasas. It has no form—solid, liquid, or vapor— Yet it can mold the subtle being Into the shape of a human or even enlightenment, A picture adorned on the stage By the seven notes and rhythms. I am showing the picture of a poem, Which cannot be bound by the glue of caste, Nor veiled by the garb of religion, Which cannot be tied by the ropes of borders and lines, Which the fire of ego and attachment cannot scorch, Which time cannot confine, Which cannot be erased by the will to destroy. O poem, flowing endlessly in nature, I seek to give you my colors, With the spoonful my consciousness can hold, I try to serve you from your infinite sea. I and my vision will one day vanish, But you will remain, for you are the seer— Though unexpressed yourself, you can become manifest, With no birth, no death, For you are a poem, Ever-flowing in nature, You are a poem.

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Mar 25, 2025

Mar 25, 2025 at 2:28 AM UTC

picture of poem

I Am Showing the Picture of a Poem From the infinite ocean flowing in nature, With the spoon of my senses, I scoop it out— It has no color, no scent, No religion, no language, Made manifest by senses and emotions from the unexpressed, Soaked in science, philosophy, psychology, and sociology, Adorned by art and literature— That poem which has birthed countless poets, And will keep giving birth to more, Yet no poet ever gave it birth. I am showing the picture of a poem, It becomes what the poet’s consciousness shapes it to be, It flows as the current of emotions drives it— It holds no single essence, Yet from it flow all nine rasas. It has no form—solid, liquid, or vapor— Yet it can mold the subtle being Into the shape of a human or even enlightenment, A picture adorned on the stage By the seven notes and rhythms. I am showing the picture of a poem, Which cannot be bound by the glue of caste, Nor veiled by the garb of religion, Which cannot be tied by the ropes of borders and lines, Which the fire of ego and attachment cannot scorch, Which time cannot confine, Which cannot be erased by the will to destroy. O poem, flowing endlessly in nature, I seek to give you my colors, With the spoonful my consciousness can hold, I try to serve you from your infinite sea. I and my vision will one day vanish, But you will remain, for you are the seer— Though unexpressed yourself, you can become manifest, With no birth, no death, For you are a poem, Ever-flowing in nature, You are a poem.

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