Prachanda's 'Song of the endgame'

The game is going very well, Prachanda HMK.
Your little ploy is racing on as no fool sees the ground you've won
Or has the sense to understand as, still with blindfolds blithely on,
They surge to do the all you urge, and stagger sightless on.

Demon Crass stupidity or as some say democracy
(Which Mouthi Tongue proclaimed to be
In his outdated ology the curse of spirits free)
Has given you the cloak you need to serve your mockery.

The pace is set and gathers speed conniving parties, run on greed,
Have failed to sight the void below or heed the Maoist seed.
The seven clowns you've duped so well will fall and slowly drown
And with them take the people's hopes, the mantle and the crown

The GON is yours and good for you you've got the Monarch chained,
The army's next by treachery so friendship must be feigned.
Infiltrate the PLA and make the body flail,
Betrayed by politicians greed the second estate will fail.

What next you say, it's plain to see, those silly parties they must be
Removed if we are now to be a red flagged com-autocracee.
No Army, King., should not be hard,
Two bridges more, we must remove, to play our Master card.

However brothers there's a snag despite the gains we've made,
With FUGs and public services now well within our shade.
Though all the people's ministries have fallen to our ploy,
The CA polls have yet to come fore parliaments our toy.

We must manipulate the vote, to win it fair and free,
Despite these nuisance monitors round every corner be.
They're supping all the beer and ale in every district bar
But we can fool the western ass, just wait and see how far.

Our propaganda is the best, our lies are quite superb,
We have the finest spin about for serving up this blurb.
And if this fails the YCL is there to force our hand
With ample stocks of guns and bombs buried in the land

The press we'll handle easily, extortion tools are bound to see
A pure and simple vick toree.
Election day or People's day will be our entry pawn,
The brightest future every known, is just about to dawn.

Now parliament's at beck and call, The Red Flags hoisted high.
The ruling class we'll crush at will with iron fisted hand,
We'll change the education rules as well and nationalise the land.
It's now too late you witless fools this path was surely known,
Though buried by your brainless minds .Now reap the seeds we've sown.

-ANONYMOUS

Dhoopee

Excerpt from The Juniper, a long poem, by Toya Gurung

A bower of meaning
the burden of meaning
then it is empty of memory
there is neither a place for it to step
nor a branch to grasp
nor words to speak

only sensations, stilled/stilled
these pond-games themselves free of desire

various daily dealings
the soft speech of love itself excavated
it's late now for body and mind to be cleansed
a roar falls into a profound sleep, smoke emerges

An obvious film over the eyes
where did the fibres of curiosity thin out
Oh, oh people, what dismal days are here

The time has come to be troubled by a burning breast
the time has come for wishing we could cool our burning
legs in cold water

How long
How much time
How long must we wait entangled
on this precipice, in these patterns

throb-throb, it's the brain or the skull it sits in
or the tiny roots of hair in its flesh
pound-pound, ache-ache from head to foot
will it be an excuse for this life to discover its end somehow.

What is this
gusts of wind are snapping tiny twigs
How can anyone see the gust or the wind

Either it has to blow all dust-coloured
or one has to sand inside a roaring whirlwind
How would I know. the wind god's promises.

Translated by Ann Hunkins
Dhoopee, Toya Gurung, Rs 185

ALL FALL DOWN

"When they hit you on the bone
you limp the rest of your life"
Krzysztof Kieslowski

1. Taken from class
Their rooms taken over
Lines drawn

down book-spine
and text Between threat
and dare, it's so

much a game,
all join in! All-y All-y in free!
Math and grammar

on the run. Cutting class
for Follow the leader.
Skipping grades

for ("do this!" "Do that!")
Someone says. Tongue-tied
and finger-pointing

taught. Answers sworn
to a stammering halt
the., the ... lesson learned:

no one to answer
for it. Shouts and slaps
spat out from above

You duck you hunker
You slip away.
Martyrdom, the Prix

de Triumph.
Death - a graduation of sorts.

2. Questions hurt
The answers. to put hurt away
But Hurt hurries hides

holds back
Hits!
Not just knees

and bridges,
but buttressed belief,
all ties

to a wider world
House full, kerosene lit,
ruin.

rises on hind legs,
bares its teeth.
Rasped breath resounds

under ground
No helping hand
pulls you free. Hillbilly,

no odyssey
brings you back
to set things

right. Dragged
from a soiled blanket of roots
and stones,

a youth no one claims

3. The Museum
(of the Insurrection)
houses: the cries

of the bereft
On alternate Tuesdays,
at midday,

in the inner courtyard,
actual participants
reenact (with assistance

from the audience)
a Maoist public execution
Drawn out with khukri

Or the military's
clandestine rapes

4. Everyone knows
where Abel is.
When Cain stands near

who dares say?
Rumor has it -
among the ash and gristle

there's a list
with names entered
meticulously

Rumor has it -
with only one killer left,
all killing will cease.

Ashes, ashes, we all.
Bow down to the Killer-in-chief.
Brother to us all .

WAYNE AMTZIS