Tomnath Uprety
A quiet witness to sorrow and joy alike
it becomes the intimate garment of the feet
the sock.
Whether climbing mountains
or crushing through snow
whether stepping over filth-bound circles of refuse
or sidestepping the edges of gutters
the feet remain blissfully oblivious
inflated with a kind of proud negligence
toward the outer world.
The elastic loosens, yet still clings like memory
fingers pierce its eyes again and again
heels press down until its belly collapses inward
and the foot knows nothing of this silent violence.
Inside the tunnel of shoes
it renders itself into an invisible scent
offering direction to steps,
and quietly blooming into the fragrance
of a so-called success-bound garden.
Sometimes it hides beneath trousers
polishing the dignity of appearance
sometimes it smiles within the openness of shorts
walking lightly through exposure itself.
Yet, after every journey,
it is discarded thrown upon the ground, alone.
To be hurled away.
To exist as an odd pair in solitude.
To be soaked by rain
to be scorched into brittle dryness by the sun
this is its struggle, yes
but also its motion, its life.
Perhaps one day
children still tender and bright will arrive
lift it with sudden delight
stuff it with playful chaos
and turn it into a bouncing ball of joy.
Or perhaps an artist
surviving through patient labor
will transform it into a toy of imagination.
A carpenter, breathing life into wooden patterns
may polish it into a tool of craft.
Thread by thread
as identity unravels into fibers
earth and water will extend an ancient, grounding love.
And one day, quietly
it will breathe its final breath
within a forgotten hollow of soil.
It will become soil itself.
And in that soil
it may nourish the roots of a new sprout.
Then, in the rustling rhythm of leaves
the pulse of life
will continue to resonate endlessly.
( The poem is composed by Umesh Luintel in Nepali and translated by Tomnath Uprety)
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