Me, too, can be king.
Midnight pools catch the brilliant lanterns
carried by women in procession.
The streets malinger beneath the tight-lipped sky.
Each stone draws like a weapon.
Each cooking fire is a funeral.
Image: Priyanka Bista
The stomach suffers immensely / It suffers from lack.
It’s midwinter and soon time for Losar / time also to cast aside our failures and regrets / and propitiate the deities for the New Year.