Callused skin on my body
Ruptured by the cruel nature
Like a deserted and dry riverbed 
In a summer
Is the native soil, my Rolpa and Rukum
My mutilated soil 
Maimed by landmines 
This callus on my soil
Cannot be cut away by surgery
And then be tossed away, 
Like lifeless hairs 
Stuck on the porcelain sinkhole rim.

Ghostly lizard crawls 
On the dusty mirror 
Hanging in the dirty wall 
Of a dilapidated room
Where only emptiness 
Catapults the carnal beauty
Of the mute image 
Hidden under the layers of dust
Reveal my wounded Rolpa and Rukum
Like a decrepit map
Ripped by too many folds 
Scratched and perforated by the worms.

The awful pain has butterflies 
In my eyes
Of sullen 
And morose sky.

April 30, 2004

(Rolpa and Rukum, the two remote districts in Far Western Nepal, affected by the Maoist's People War)