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Bhuwan Thapaliya


Kathmandu, Nepal

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Only the poor in spirit are really poor


Bhuwan Thapaliya

Wealth and status have no imperative correlation
with genuine humanitarian traits in the deliberation,
The poor man with a soaring benevolence within
May be a true gentleman- in spirit and in daily life.
The poor man with a rich spirit is always superior,
To the rich man with a poor spirit: The former is,
As having nothing, yet possessing every thing,
While the other though possessing every thing
Has nothing. The first hopes everything, and
Fears nothing; the last hopes nothing, and fear
everything. Only the poor in spirit are really poor.
He who has lost all, but retains his courage,
Cheerfulness, hope, virtue, and self- respect
is still rich. For such a man, the world is,
As it were, held in trust; his spirit dominating
over his perilous paths, he can still walk erect
with strengthened head and perpetual pride
In the narrow strait of life’s perpetual rhyme
Conquering all the obstacles through his strike
So always remember my friend_.
Wealth and status have no imperative correlation
With genuine humanitarian traits in the deliberation,
The poor man with a soaring benevolence within
May be a true gentleman-in spirit and in daily life.

UntitledO Earth! All Bathed With Blood And Tears


Bhuwan Thapaliya

O Earth! All bathed with blood and tears,
Survived by destitution and unending fears.
Once terrain of heavenly delight and peace,
Now resembles the living hells stubborn scene.

Sound of bullet rocks the cradle of our clean soil
And dismantles the hope of our enlightened soul
Along with the violence and its compact root hold
In this pure soil, where once peace used to grow

Passing through the vital segment of its existence
World is on the threshold of abysmal deterioration
If this deterioration continues as greedy mans fervor
Then in near future, Earth’s fortitude would crumble

Life is in itself uncertain, but it is further uncertain
Here in this land, cause God doesn’t decide death
But our own brothers decide the destiny of our life
God is dead, so peace is detachment dreams strife

Brothers fighting amid themselves with deep temper
Proves that the blood is still thinner than the water
In this land grappled by hyper instinctive frustration,
Where adversity too is hyped with materialization

Violence blossoms in the paddy field and hate ripens
The sour fruit of the trees, adversity attacks the adore
And dismantles the ray of peace before the dire dusk
This is the story of Earth enshrouded by bloody dust

In the midst of this entire horrendous pain, we still see
Far off, the silhouette of the scintillating illumination,
And stare them with unfathomable sanguinity inside
Praying for the conclusion of this nauseating scene

What could it be but adorable pliable love, will cure all
Melting into its dazzling radiance, abhorrence will fall
Into the abyss of love, far off the obscurity filled dome
From the unsympathetic stone cold conceited hearts

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