A mammoth of a peak lies waiting ahead,
we’ve just had our daily dose of morning bread.
It’s time to get going; we cannot go back
For the path behind us is etched in darkness, black.
Snow sits cliff side, waiting, beckoning us with her beauty
Hungrily we stare as she sits majestically, defying gravity
Like an apsara she bedazzles one of our group
Falls he does down the abyss, never again will he move.
Onwards yet we go, only two of us remain
The peak is getting closer; mourn we will our slain,
When we reach the top of that wretched peak
The name of which we do not dare to speak.
Nearly at the top now the two machines of flesh,
our legs moaning and groaning; urging us back.
A piercing scream, majestic birds fly out the trees
Two becomes one, the ground beneath hath a crack.
The top have I reached, writing my own obituary
A mammoth of a peak still lies waiting ahead,
It’s time to get going again, I cannot go back.
The road behind me is etched in bloody black.
For context: I wrote this poem while I was on a bus traveling back to Kathmandu from Barpak having had a harrowing, tiring experience climbing from Rangrung, a village at the base of the hills, all the way upto a place near Laprak, a separation of more than 2km in altitude.
Bijaya's creations 