They'll come to you sniffing like a puppy.
But when they scratch your boots and hang on you,
you'll be out of yourself--convulsing,
I ran down the forest, not knowing
that I was a mile away, already, from the cub,
that I had dropped the shoots of malingo. I dared not go
to collect them again. The sow could tear me like a rag
or the sloth could make a pickle of me--in the muddy red soil
of that summertime.
I was lucky enough, and perhaps the cub
was still blind. Its rheumy muzzle made me shrink.
As if in utero, it was trying to come out,
not knowing what fear is.
Haris is from Nepal. He is a graduate in English and American literature from Tribhuvan University. A member of The Society of Nepali Writers in English, he is a teacher of English by profession. Also, he is the editor of Misty Mountain Review, an online journal of short poetry.
His poems have appeared in The Enchanting Verses Literary Review, Buddhist Poetry Review, Cyclamens and Swords Publishing, Mad Swirl, Of Nepalese Clay, Essence Poetry Journal, Egg Poetry Journal, Locust Magazine, Snow Monkey Journal and Cuckoo Quarterly, among others. His other works are forthcoming in Message in a Bottle Poetry Magazine. To read his other poems, visit: http://ripplezhome.wordpress.com.
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