Every October I get out of Kathmandu,
Descending the winding Prithivi Highway—
Clad in pallid clouds.
The parijat blossoms fall on the road
In eurythmic dance movements.
All the while I think of you,
And how you once tossed me out—
Cold and helpless on the frostbitten road—
Like the flowers that lay along the wayside.
Poetry by Bibek
Read 177 times
Written on 2018-10-20 at 16:39
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email