Far From Mountains

Far from mountains where my Paru waits, 

I wake to heat and dusty days. 

From Solukhumbu's mountain air, 

To foreign concrete rooms with none to care. 

My hands are rough, my eyes are dry, Beneath these strange stars, I can’t even cry. I count the days like scattered sand, Dreaming of that far-off homeland. 

The roof I build is not for me

But for a hope across the sea. Each nail I drive, each wall I raise, I do it for her & our future days. 

Some nights, I think of letting go, Too tired to fight, too numb to show. 

But as my phone screen begins to shine, And I see her face — that strength, that spine. 

Paru’s eyes are brave yet filled with pain, 

She hides all her sorrow & bears the strain. 

She says, “We’re fine,” though I can see, 

The cracked old walls behind her screen.  

Then in her arms, my little boy runs, barefoot and wild, Laughing bright — my mountain child.

 He holds a drawing with tiny hands,

 Of our old home in mountain lands. 

A house, a hill, and by the door, 

He’s drawn us three, what I long for. 

A winding path, a sky so wide, 

And all our dreams are drawn side by side. 

A beautiful home with curving lanes, 

His world in colors, simple and plain. 

He says, “Come home, Baba, don’t be late,” And my heart breaks under the weight of fate. 

But, I remember the land we sold in tears, The loans we took, the silent fears. 

So I bear the heat and all the pain, 

For a life when we are together again. 

Still in my chest, a promise stays,

To walk with them through better days.  Where rhododendrons bloom and rivers flow, one day, my love, I’ll come back home. 

Bachelors, Tribhuvan University