The Malady of Inconveniences

Have you noticed how, in just the presence 
Of inconvenience, the soul shatters? 

I’m talking, of course, about me.
I’m talking, likewise, about you.
I’m talking, in essence, of us,
Face-front, tackling the many ills
Of life in this, the modern world. 

This modern world like a supreme emblem
Crushes us, the tiny fonts that wriggle
To make a word, but since it’s so upfront
Our poems never get written nor read.
Instead we languor, half-thought ideas
Rolling inside of a drunk poet’s head. 

I’m talking, of course, about me.

I’m talking about those incessant nights
Where I lie, crushed like an ant’s corpse beneath
The boot of a day began with promise,
Musing over the morning’s smile, which floats
Like an un-kept word by a scum lover,
And I sleep in tears like a partner scorned. 

I’m talking, in essence, of us. 

I’m talking about how the fates have fared
To make us suffer, and how come each day
The world outside burns while the world inside
Keeps desperately to set a table, that
Can’t be filled with food or even with guests
Because we’re all afraid to leave our homes. 

I’m talking, likewise, about you. 

You who pray and pray for it to better,
But have prayed so long you forgot what “it”
Is even supposed to mean. Now prayers
Are words just meant to keep you sane before
An unflinchingly terrifying life
Sandwiched between inconveniences. 

Of course, souls shatter. There’s no other choice! 

The Self Learned Archer

Spurned by his master, who was not able 
To teach him due to old laws he did not 
Understand, he ran to the woods determined, 
And unstable, to be an archer on his own.
Living off the land, he practiced everyday but poorly, 
Frustrated by the wind that knocked his arrows 
Till he learned how to glide them watching 
The birds flutter overhead. He soon shot one
Solely by listening for sound. The trees, air and water 
All became his teachers. The sun itself and all the land 
Showed him how to shoot. Soon enough 
He'd learned more of his craft from nature
Than by sucking up or kissing any teacher's boot.
Long satisfied he prepared for his departure, 
To show the world his talents: the "self-learned" archer.

Call Me Ishmael

The sea swells and is quiet
and sometimes I think
that's fine.
I'm fine
in my boat alone.
I don't know where I'm going
or how I got here,
but I'm sailing
and the salt I smell spells I'm alive. 

Oh, age and the sea have drenched my boat for
twenty-eight years and I don't know how long
it will float. The sails are soggy and torn,
of course, as I don't know how to sew them.
The boat flooring is rotten and spread too far. I guess
soon my ride will be over. Five years, I give it. 

The sea swells and is quiet,
but sometimes violent.
That's what I fear, that's
what will swallow me.
The waves are fickle and everyday a storm could come,
and I've a shitty boat,
and a will fickler than the sea. 

Author’s Biography

Sameen Shakya’s poems have been published in Alternate Route, Cosmic Daffodil, Hearth and Coffin, Roi Faineant and Thin Veil Press, to name a few. Born and raised in Kathmandu, Nepal, he moved to the USA in 2015 to pursue writing. He earned an Undergraduate Degree in Creative Writing from St Cloud State University and traveled the country for a couple of years to gain a more informal education. He returned to Kathmandu in 2022 and is currently based there.