Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sum It May 2014
1.You have to write a poem on the given prompt for each day [in the given order] and then share it with fellow challenge takers (optional but recommended) by posting what you wrote in your blog or on Facebook or wherever. To make sharing and tracking easier, you can use this hashtag: ‪#‎eleven11poetrychallenge‬
2. The poem can be of any length and the prompt can be interpreted anyway you want. Poems can be written in English or Nepali.
3. The whole idea is to write, share, grow and have fun! So if you are cool with it, check this space for daily prompt.
Day one: A poem from the perspective of an inanimate object
Day two: A poem in the format of a conversation
Day three: Write a poem that tells a story (with a beginning, middle, end..but not necessarily in that order), which is completely imaginary or is not based on a reality that YOU know of.
Day four: A wishlist, with 11 of your wishes.
Day five: Write a Haiku. Or two.
Day six: Let's talk about ***, baby! [Write a poem about *** (not *** and gender, '***' if we are unclear.]
Day seven: Only sixteen--a poem about the person you were when you were sixteen [or about the person you want to be, if you are not yet 16]
Day eight: A poem describing a photograph or painting.
Day nine: Write a letter to your murderer.
Day ten: A poem about your worst nightmare.
Day Eleven: Write a poem about yourself, in Nepali. IF you already write in Nepali, that is great. If you don't, then this prompt s your chance
Initiated by :::

Today is the last day of challenge
Perig3e Jan 2011
To speak all these languages:
Assamese, Bengali, Bodo,
Chhattisgarhi, Dogri , Garo -

Oh, to be able to tongue, "Love"
in Gajarati, Hini, Kannada, Kashmiri,
Khasi,  Kokborok, Konkani -

Or lip, "Desire" in
Maithili,  Malayalam,  Manipuri,  Marathi,  Mizo,  Nepali -

Or whisper, "Good night, Dear"
in Oriya, Punjabi,  Sanskrit,
Santali,  Sindhi, Telugu, Tamil, or Urdu.
All rights reserved by the author.
Lone Wolf Dec 2014
You, upperclass, American feminist
Will you please shut up about a sandwich?
And comic book characters, supermodels
Shut up about your first world problems
And take a look somewhere,
Where the idea of feminism Is actually needed
Have you ever heard of an arranged marriage?
It's common practice in other places,
Right after puberty, as long as the ******* are there
11, 12, they don't really care
See the life of a Nepali girl, lower-class,
Lack of freedom
Learn about the meaning
Of the word
Young Nepali slave girls
Beaten and bruised,
Not allowed to be ill

Which are both from india
Dedicated to a goddess at as young as as five
To bring the family good fortune
The tribes girl, forever *****
But with nightly visitors in her bed
They're hoping for some of her luck
To rub off on them
dalit girls
Sold by their family
For next to nothing,
It's called "bonded labor"
And is supposed to pay off debts
But the trap is set
The girl is caught
And if the "bonded labor man"
Feels she isn't of enough use
Maybe she's been beaten or is a little too ill
He sells her off to another man
Supposedly to pay her hospital bill
So yes, feminism is needed
But not here you little heathen
Shut up about your so called freedoms
And help the ones so desperately need it
So, ya. Feminism in America kinda ****** me off. It has gone way past gender equality and has transgressed into female superiority and that's not right either. There's few issues I will actually get worked up about and this one of them.
If you feel the need to be feminist that's fine. Be feminist. But don't ***** about sandwiches and comic book character outfits. Protest something that is truly in need of being stopped. Help someone that needs it.  
Some sites that are very interesting reading material to look into for true feminists:

And oddly enough the one that has so far shown up in my research as a prominent activist is a man. Named Kailash Satyarthi.
Child labor is of course both female and male children. However they are sold in different markets. Males are mostly sold to factories, while females are sold on a more private basis, to men for personal use. Or sometimes a family and the wife "doesn't know" what's happening. Or maybe she does and just doesn't have the authority to say anything. Whatever the situation is, it is wrong. Children shouldn't be sold by their family, and no girl should ever be forced into something.
Sharina Saad May 2013
Through years of my prime
I walked with a heart
crazy about love.

I wanted my heart to bloom
and shelter a shadow of love.
when the heart was soaked in passion
and was wet,
I wanted to wrench it dry
on love itself.
I wanted to paint a picture,
in indelible print, across
the canvass of my heart.

I stand today
in front of the Taj Mahal.
I watch the marble smiling
as the sunlight gives it a touch.
I feel gusts of wind
gone mad
as they come across
the heights of love here.
I listen to the music, waking in
the dream-eyed visitors' quiet hearts.

I am tipsy after my
own feelings
themselves have become wine.
I forget myself, world and all.

I don't know
whether I'm thinking of Shah Jahan,
Mumtaj or myself.
I'm quite disillusioned, stupefied,
enveloped under an expanding heart.

Shah Jahan who proved
an emperor to be shorter than a lover,
who turned a grave into a temple
who gave his beloved a place of God
and converted love into a prayer.

there exists one difference between
us two.
he was all in all, and if
I'd ever grown prosperous like he was,
I'd not have waited for my beloved's death
before I erected a Taj Mahal.

(Translated from Nepali by Manu Manjil)
Eliza Prasai Mar 2019
Indeed, it is lifeless
But it gives life to her hopes.
It is a witness;
Witness of her all time pains.
It is her friend whom
She shares her thoughts with.
She looks into a distance
Upto the place her eyes can see,
Tears flow down vigourously.
Yet, hope remains deep down the heart.
It shines;
Along with it shine her faiths,
Her faiths would have died a long ago
If it did not exist.
She gazes into its light,
It says to her,"your wait is not wasted."
She strengthens...
She grows stronger with the words.
When everything faded away,
When darkness covered the dawn of life,
When there was shadow all over,
It had helped her fight;
Fight with the pessimism of life.
To the rest of the world,
It was just a piece of mud.
But to her,
It was 'THE DIYO'
Her courage, her belief and her faith
Whose never ending light
Would provide her
A reason to fight and survive.
Diyo is a small lamp in Nepal which is associated with worships, prayers and optimism.
I wake to the news of another lynching
As our boys scream Bleed Blue
And over the border, the Green Girls rejoice
And somewhere in Jharkhand
Two families mourn the death of their men
Cattle traders? Terrorists? Muslim?
With cloth stuffed in their throats
And arms tied behind
Hatred showing in the mob mentality
Another dark blot on our secular fabric

And I watch a short film, India, India
Of a young boy on Tuesday selling ganeshas at a temple
Another image of the same boy on a Friday
Selling taweez and chanting Ya Ali
Outside Mumbai’s Haji Ali
And on Sunday, the same boy singing the praises
of the Lord outside a church, selling amulets
And I smile
This is the India I love, the different faiths
The acceptance, the co-existence

As the morning drones on, I watch and participate
In the endless debates on Facebook and Twitter
Of people posing, taking sides, sounding pedantic
While they sit comfortably in their homes
Sipping ginger tea made by an underage maid
While their Labrador retriever is taken for a walk
By their Nepali driver and the Muslim cook smokes a bidi
In the garden with the Bihari maali where their son plays

But what will happen to the sons of the lynched cattle traders?
What will happen to the brothers of the women *****?
What will happen to the mothers of the sons killed?
What will happen to the fathers of the unborn children
Killed for their mistake of being a girl child?
Is this the India we want to grow up in?
Is this the India we want to have children in?
Is this the India we want to grow old in?

Wake up, my country, it is still dawn
The road is long and far and we have miles to walk
Towards peace and freedom and love
Towards acceptance and equality and oneness
Get off that sofa and make a difference
Participate, vote, empower, create, enable
It’s up to you whether our country goes this way or that
So, wake up, my country, it is still dawn
Wake up, my country, it is still dawn
Anthony Williams Sep 2014
We climbed from bedrock
to Idyllwild the home
of Pines to Palms
and Suicide Rocks
but not for us
only for those
poor tired souls
for whom the world's gone
the night threw
itself boldly into the fray
of winds which blew
from storm to calm

so this morning we awoke
to a placid knap
slipping on snowy piste
to turn cold snaps
spiced Nepali tea
sipped from ice
nipped cups
I see promise
picks up

from backward leaps
time forward flips
breaking free range igneous
into pan
piped sizzling
congenial song
that carries on the tree line
like spring
water sprung from
creeks to go scurrying off
with wet socks
until pulled up
by old school granite skies
hanging pools out to dry
in sopping blue rinsed sun

ahead any bald rocks
or hairline fractures
are long since dialled in
as baseless fears
knowing this mobile age
can merrily slip like air
through numb fingers
while baseline hands declare
“hold me close to gather”
edelweiss echoes gone
rappelling through time
the route we've chosen's
to be tied to each other's
peaks in the way of sun
and moon

come what may
be it creases in our skin
or crevasses
we'll win the battle to slim line
any overhanging ridges
so I take care to tighten
my girth hitch to top notch
and hold firmly
to both your conviction
and reach

that setting
out to move mountains
we call home
achieves more than
staying home
and calling mountains

so bright
you have me forget
all things too trite
banal office hype
shopworn old hat
mowing lawn weekends
too dishy to be clichéd

you polish off the stereotype
slam the Dior on out of shape
and dull as ditchwater tripe
keeping a victorious secret
or two in the slip knot
too tranquil shade
taking allure to new heights
we'll never drop
down from
by Anthony Williams
Edna Sweetlove May 2015
Just a quick note to let you all know that Dad and I love you all really and the recent Nepali earthquakes were mistakes which happened whilst he was taking a **** after a couple of strong curries Mary Magdalen made.
Rose Bernhard Aug 2011
A fresh start,
but dread,
and longing,
hang heavy over the heads of the children.

It is not an issue of sanity,
of hunger,
of theft,
or of disease that concerns these young souls,
but an issue of the heart.

The blood of a precious love has been spilt,
the once white page,
splattered with lies.

Lust and longing,
two things young lovers know not about.
A trip to Seattle can change the fate of two people immensely.

He was a boy from a city,
A boy who dealt with the slurs *** and Flipper every day,
despite his straight qualities.
She was a Nepali beauty,
accustom to getting what she wanted.

They were stuck in relationship far beyond their control.
desperately in love,
dreaming of a boy out of reach.

One night,
Can change everything.

The air remained heavy with the wish for rain,
the sun tired from it's long day of work,
and the crisp white clouds begging for a breeze.

on a plane home.

wishing it were different.


Lust, Love, Desire, Deceit.

We all want to find that perfect someone.

But when you're only a babe,
don't take anything too seriously.

You have a whole life,
of guys,
and dolls,
just waiting for you.
Sobbingsoul Jan 9
तीम्रो हृदय  बोल्छ
आँखाले खोज्छ
तीम्रो मनमा
दुनिया कुरा खेल्छ
कैले काई
भयले  जितछ
सुंदर ओठ तीम्रो
बांध्या छः
अहंको पट्टीले
मेरो प्रेम
तिमी भित्रै
निस्सास्या छः

Your heart speaks
Your eye seeks
your heart yearns

Thoughts bubble up
In the world of your mind

Fear conquers

Your Beautiful lips
With an ego bar
My love
In you
Tries to breathe for life

HHT  May 2015
HHT May 2015
A puff of smoke, a sip of wine, couldn't make the events so divine,
a bit more tame.
The hopes of yesterday and the sorrow of today came down together, with a rumble and dismay
fresh renderings of thoughts are all that's left, crafted by time as just another bliss of hope,
when ignorance itself is becoming a friend from a foe,
all the ****** souls, the epic fails align to scatter once again as the earth squeezes out the very last of their happiness
A divine play I tell you, of a deity dark and grey, igniting the fire of death and sorrow among the people already in hell
Damaged houses, even more grave dreams
the number of the ones no more, is like that of a movie scene,
bodies upon bodies, death piled them up, happiness a question, another unsung song.
It shakes now, it shakes then it will shake everyone again,
the earth I mean, not the hopes and dreams, not the truth within the lies,
guess the shaking never stopped, it just breaks you down,
but a Nepali is a fighter, we'll turn it around.

— The End —