Velvet the Himalayan poinsettia in bloom,
silver the scabbard of thrusting power,
the mind is a clear scent,
the pen is a new ridge of hills.
I am a tree with countless boughs,
a flower which hides a thousand petals,
a juniper, a pointed branch of the scented fig,
its rough, misshapen fruit.
In my belief I am Nepali,
my faith the highest Himalaya,
my favourite season is the one
when leather jackets are donned,
my clothes are only freedom.
The Himalayan lights my touching place,
equality spread on the ground where I stand.
About this poem
This poem, representing Nepal, is part of The Written World – our collaboration with BBC radio to broadcast a poem from every single nation competing in London 2012.