Everyday is just another day with twist; bitter and butter..life goes on
Sudhan Subedi
A poem written for Mom was well-admired,
For all the things she does, all she’s inspired.
When it’s Mom—do we ever need to explain?
Her love flows through us, like gentle rain.
Look at these monkeys, how they care,
Motherhood at its peak, always there.
No need for words, no need for feeling,
Motherhood’s in our genes, ever-revealing.
No force on Earth can stand before,
A mother’s love—steadfast and pure.
Ahmed Faraz
If we part ways today, perhaps in dreams we’ll meet,
Like dried flowers pressed between pages, bittersweet.
In the hearts of the broken, seek loyalty’s gleam,
For even among the lost, you’ll find treasures unseen.
You are divine, am I not too?
My love, are we not angels, pure and true?
Why then, must we meet behind so many veils?
When our souls are bound, beyond all tales?
Zafar Iqbal
Fatigue was inevitable while doing some work, And now I’m even more tired from resting too much.
The darkness outside has seeped within, In turning dusk, I have become the night itself.
This age was such that I spent it as I did, Disgraced myself while shaming others.
The bird can’t escape, but it’s trapped in this air, I’ve grown weary of baiting my heart like this.
Some weren’t unaware; they knew me well, I was departing even as I sought respite.
Water had risen over my head, but I struggled, Pausing everything, holding back everything.
What pilgrimage were we on that led us to these days? What dust it was that we made holy.
From the bend where we began, we’ve returned again, Bringing a futile journey to its end.
At last, Zafar, I’ve vanished from the scene, In making my unique style too common.
Sudhan Subedi
A Friday night call came from a friend,
But two replies outright condemned.
One claimed urgency, a crisis at max,
The other excused with commitments that stacked.
No typsy evening of laughter and fun,
No chit-chat beneath both moon and sun.
Yet, fate had plans of its own to make,
For that evening, the two would partake.
One held a bag brimming with tomatoes,
The other bore potatoes, heavy as halos.
They shared a smile, knowing the game,
The creative excuses, all the same.
A hint of duty in the air,
For home-cooked meals they’d prepare.
Vegetables won, over barroom snacks,
Responsibilities, no turning back.
Life is full of daily routines and small tasks—often referred to as the “daily grind” or “daily chores.” These activities, while sometimes mundane, are the backbone of our existence. They provide structure and a sense of normalcy, anchoring us in the present.
When you say, “life around daily chores is wow,” it reflects an appreciation for the beauty in these everyday moments. There’s a certain magic in the simplicity of daily life, where each task—whether it’s making breakfast, walking the dog, or tidying up—has its own rhythm and significance. These activities might seem ordinary, but they are filled with life and movement. They sparkle with the potential for small joys, like the satisfaction of a clean space, the warmth of a cooked meal, or the peace of a quiet evening.
The routine itself can be comforting, a reminder that even in a world of constant change, there are things we can rely on. It’s the flow of these small, consistent actions that create the larger tapestry of our lives. And within this flow, there’s a rhythm that can be quite beautiful when we take the time to notice it. Each moment, each task, contributes to the whole, making life a series of sparkling moments that might otherwise go unnoticed.
In the corporate world, we often see ourselves as indispensable. We play our roles diligently, believing our contributions are critical. Yet, roles can be omitted, and the world keeps turning. One day, we may leave our positions, and the business will continue as usual.
After years of hard work, the bosses who once demanded our dedication might forget our contributions. However, our children will always remember the time we couldn’t spend with them.
The lesson is not to take things too seriously. Approach life with balance, playing the ball as it comes, and cherishing moments with family as much as those at work.
Sudhan Subedi @tweetsudhan
Beyond the horizon, peace eludes our grasp,
Inner calm falters, a fleeting clasp.
Miles we traverse, to the moon and back,
Personal gain sought, leaving others’ peace ransacked.
Shattered souls, we break and bend,
Yet the name of Buddha, profound, we tend.
Nonstop chants, in every breath we take,
Reflecting on the truth, for Buddha’s sake.
A day of pause, to honor the tale,
Buddha was born in Nepal, in peace to prevail.
Sudhan Subedi @tweetsudhan
In silence, there is strength,
Words kept within length.
A smile withstands each blow,
Resilience in a storm’s glow.
Despite shattered dreams, they rise,
Eyes on the earth and skies.
Misconduct to one another, let it be,
The perpetrators secretly conspired to see.
Shattered silence as a raging noise,
Barriers broken, discarding devious ploys.
Stand up, you culprits, no more to bay.
Voices ascend, our land shall reclaim.
They resist the dark with valiant hearts,
Every silence will make a roaring art.
Grim echoing histories as in Sun Tzu,
Every shade of truth will repeat.
Sudhan Subedi @tweetsudhan
The dynamics of influencer marketing are changing significantly in the digital age. The days of influencers having a near-mystical ability to control the actions of their followers by simply endorsing them are long gone. Rather, we live in a time when genuine experiences and recommendations from peers are more influential, especially in sectors like travel.
We invited the ambassadors stationed in Nepal who would encourage trekking during insurgencies. It was anticipated that their own experiences would have a good impact on other citizens. But an unexpected meeting at a press conference exposed a different reality. One fellow countryman downplayed the ambassador’s recommendation when asked if he would journey because of it, highlighting the importance of authenticity and credibility in influencer marketing.
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Sudhan Subedi @tweetsudhan
In the cycle of life, roast or rust,
Beyond mere existence, we’re thrust.
Engrossed in sessions, minds confined,
Roasting each other, but are we blind?
The speaker, with wisdom, holds the floor,
Yet sees not the rust, the ones ignored.
Learned and educated, par excellence,
While others languish, lost in pretense.
They lack the basics, yet strut with pride,
In their self-made bubbles, they hide.
For knowing all, they fail to see,
The world beyond, where others plea.
Self-rusted, they roast in their own flame,
A cycle of ignorance, it’s such a shame.
Roasted by rust, they’re consumed,
Yet blind to the world, where hope is entombed.
The cycle persists, in its relentless churn,
As we fail to see, fail to learn.
Beyond the roast, beyond the rust,
Exists a world, waiting to be just.
