I kept pushing,
Life came tumbling down
Like the Stone of Sisyphus.
It doesn’t take the whole winter
To know that spring has
Not arrived for long.
If I fathom greatness
I need to bear something great.
Even great sadness and despair.
With a gentle breeze,
An emotion drops down
When I write
At the hills of melancholia.
This dream you held hands,
The reality was a big highway
To cross.
Only when you cross
The lineage of life
Ancestry gets known.
Sorrow is needed for happiness
To grow itself.

Sushant Thapa is a Nepalese poet who holds an M.A. in English from Jawaharlal Nehru University in New Delhi, India with nine books of English poems and one short story collection to his credit. His poems are published at The Kathmandu Post, Trouvaille Review, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Outlook India, Corporeal Lit Mag, Indian Review, etc. He is a lecturer of English in Biratnagar, Nepal.

You can find more of Sushant’s work here on Ink Pantry.