Odd Day Account
Born in Lower Bockray, Chirang Bhutan, in 1974, Pokhrel attended his primary education from Damphu Junior High School. He completed his secondary and higher secondary education from Nepal and has Bachelors degree in Humanities’ with sociology honors from West Bengal, India. He is one of the founding executive members and vice-chair of Bhutan Press Union (BPU) and founding member of Bhutaneseliterature.com, one of the much browsed literary sites of Bhutanese across the globe.
Also, currently is the Secretary of Literature Council of Bhutan (LCOB) established in 1993. He served Bhutanese Refugee Children as a volunteer teacher under Caritas-Nepal from 1996-2001 and taught in a few private schools in Nepal prior to his departure to the US.
He has an ardent interest in poetry, short stories, and drama work since his early days. Has contributed more than two dozens of his poetry works and write-ups both in English and Nepali in Kuensel Weekly published from Thimphu Bhutan in the past, an equal number of his literary works are published in other regional magazines and portals, and few of his dramas staged so far.
One of the founders of this portal, Pokharel served as Managing Editor from 2010 to 2014. He also served as Secretary of Literature Council of Bhutan (LCOB) from 2014 to 2019. Currently, he resides in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and works for BNS as its Chief Editor, President of Bhutanese Community Association of Pittsburgh (BCAP), Service Coordinator at Jewish Family & Children Service, Pittsburgh under Immigrant Services and Connections (ISAC) program.
R N Pokharel / CA, USA
I was to conjure up, not to celebrate in either ways
The 20th anniversary of the start of my odd day;
The day I cried in ample buckets at life’s iffy bay
No matter what, I had to say ‘a compelled yes’.
The scene of the setting was normal
No feast; no gala, nor soiree’s aroma in ether
I was to add a new page to make it twentieth thereafter
The budding spring in the adjacent was the optimal.
Genuine musings of the first day
Brought in my nerve the scene of the last see
Spared to me by my peer fellows and cronies
With words of ominous effects on the way.
I had just turned to the thirteenth page
To read few lines of memorable chapter
I was interrupted by my toddling toddler
She was somewhere within the same page.
She happened to fuel mild stress-unintentionally
‘Why are you brought here-my dad’?
‘Why I am brought here- my dad’?
Her beseeching tone fretted me so amicably.
Her latter query made me wordless-hapless
In truth her ‘here’ meant so much to me
I made pep talk on life is a journey
For she was with the same ‘tail’ as I do-the malaise.
She looked calm-filled with charm- I inane
Of course, with a wish she was brought
And the wish yet not alike lost,
Its just misery that walloped me for the cause genuine.
The thirteenth page had once added little bliss
Within the page had I got my other half
The twentieth began with questions perhaps
As was true to my life forested with knotty trees.
The running page alarmed me; gathered mosses anon,
I felt a little like walking out from a long coma.
Toddler’s presence exercised my, otherwise, mind in trauma
I realized. I remained always before loaded cannon.
Evidently, the toddler shall grow-grow with the tail
Unseen tomorrow, for sure, add or make amiss my wish
She equally shall seek freedom from tail and relish,
Before being termed a bête noire, I must lose my tail.