A child with determination fought for his nation’s fate,
But a silent battle for freedom in bullets laid him dead.
Bagawath Bhandari, a budding poet from Bhutan, shares his poetry
Hailing from Bhutan, Bagawath Bhandari is a budding author and poet whose literary contributions span across books, anthologies, newspapers, magazines, and textbooks. With a passion for weaving words into meaningful expressions, Bhandari has published three books that showcase a distinctive voice and a deep connection to human experience. Recognized for both artistry and dedication, Bhandari has become a little-known figure in contemporary literature, admired for the ability to combine lyricism with insight. His poetry often reflects themes of identity, resilience, and the beauty found in everyday life, resonating with readers across generations. In addition to being widely published, Bhandari has contributed significantly to collective works, lending his voice to anthologies that bring together varied perspectives and experiences.
A Shoe for Democracy
A Shoe for DemocracyA child with determination fought for his nation’s fate,
But a silent battle for freedom in bullets laid him dead.
He marched through the streets of corrupted villages and cities,
With a chest full of hope and unbiased responsibilities.
A child who opened his heart to cradle freedom,
Lay on the ground with bloodied shoes to wake seldom.
A pool of blood washed the grimace of a corrupted nation,
As tears of adoration for the child rose in enigmatic emotion.
Shoe laces dripped with the blood of freedom and equality,
Dooming the world of corruption and unknown poverty.
A child breathed his last on the floor of a howling street,
Yet his soul fought on for the nation’s survival in greater fleet.
“As I am, so is my nation,” inscribed with the blood of a child,
Built the foundation of democracy in a country in needful style.
His death stands as an epitome of the nation’s failed power;
He wilted like a bud in autumn, yet freedom bloomed like a flower.
The darkest puddle of blood in the abyss of shoes,
Cracked the dawn of hopeful dreams as morning broke with blues.
The filth and darkness of a derailed past were drowned in blood and tears,
As Gen-Z awoke from their wildest dreams with no fears.
Democracy buckled in bloody shoes, sowing a seed of hope,
As the country breathed in the air of aspiration and love.
The fallen children and soldiers are dreams built with promise,
For a nation to rise from dust and shine devoid of grimace.
Prayers for those fallen children and helpless soldiers,
Battling the evil of war with the strength of robust shoulders.
Justice for them, like an elixir, must be served soon,
Before dawn breaks and night falls at the edge of the moon.
***
Ode to the Doctor
Ode to the DoctorAs gentle rain of blessings falls on lush green earth,
From miles away I send my prayers of worth.
Inked with the pen of generations untold,
For the hero whose heart won hearts in gold!
His passport, boarding pass, currencies exchanged,
Lay untouched in a corner, quietly estranged.
His suitcase with scrubs and his formal attire,
Rested in silence, while duty called higher.
What? He left the plane, the seminar’s call,
For a patient in need—he gave his all.
A man with a failing heart lived anew,
Because a doctor’s heart was steadfast and true.
He taught more of life than seminars give,
Showing that kindness is the best way to live.
His act was the award, his virtue the voice,
Though bags stayed unpacked, he made the right choice.
No wings, no cape, no powers untold,
Yet a hero he stands, both humble and bold.
He gave back a life when all hope had died,
A cosmic gift wiping tears that cried.
So I, a small poet, let verses disperse,
An ode to the doctor, inscribed in this verse.
No ink, no paper can capture his fame,
For love is the kingdom he’s built in his name.
***
Palace of Illusions
Palace of IllusionsThe story of an unknown queen lies beyond the distant hills,
As the king of no man’s land gallops his horse down the field.
In the whistle of the wind, adoration slips through the heart,
As the ocean rises in waves and the sun burns down the earth.
A magnificent sea of emotions floods through his veins,
As the king gallops into woods of madness with guards of nine.
The praiseworthy queen of beauty conceals behind the walls,
Though the nudity of trees and flowers protects her in fall.
A battle of love is fought in the field of the king’s own spirit,
As the queen awaits the battle of an unknown man in her street.
The gate of the palace opens wide in the thoughts of the king—
Alas! It opens before him only in his unfulfilled dream.
He wakes from his tipsy trance of the starry night,
The void of light conveys a message of merciful might.
He draws the curtains, leaves the room open for breeze,
With a queenly dressed woman dancing in his mind to cease.
The tower of love ashes as pearly tears stream down his cheeks,
A spear of thoughts pricks his soul in agonizing streaks.
With his heart racing deep in breaths of tortured thought,
The king rises from his throne and takes up his sword.
The battle of unknown lands begins in his kingdom—
The kingdom of his mind, still fighting for freedom.
He sweats profusely as cosmic energy fades from the night;
He trembles to the earth, seeking eternal might.
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