If not for you, I’ll be a broken tree
Dozing in the middle of a desert
Repenting for what I’ve become
Waiting for rain, or even lightning to strike.
If not for you, I’ll be a hopeless wanderer
Scuttling to the higher grounds
Full of ash heaps of dead dreams
Terrified by the extraordinary ebbing of the Koshi River.
If not for you, maybe I’ll drift away from the shore
Like a paper boat, waving and rolling
Striking against the hungry tides, a boat
Made from the remains of the very ash heaps.
If not for you, because of all that helpless wandering
Maybe I’ll be a pebble lying on the hospital bed
The nurses will tend me, water me,
and sometimes kick me in my face,
And bring me the flowers
that carry the scent of anesthesia.
If not for you, I wonder what I’ll become
Out of the endless possibilities
Maybe an absolute nothingness
But I know this for sure:
If not for you, not a word
would have dripped out of my pen.
And I wonder what I would have become, then?