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In my recent dreams,
I awash myself
In the spirit of the fish
Streaming steadfast
In the torrents of the rivulet
Of the sufferings.

Whenever I endeavored
To surge my course against
The currents of the rivulet
That coerced my route
To the sufferings
More and most.

My essence of not emerging itself
Into the rivulets to the river,
Then ceased in the serenity of ocean,
But to converge myself
To the source of the rivulet
That’s nothingness.

Is it my effort futile?
Shadowing the sun
To thaw the iceberg
Into the new moon icicles -
Indeed the times melt it down
To the oceanic ocean.

When the white hawks
Soaring to the sky azure
That’s the illusory of mirage
The stark beauty of the depth
Of the sane lucidity.
It’s color of nothingness.
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Submitted on February 18, 2021

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Pushpa Tuladhar

Pushpa Tuladhar, born on 1948, in Kathmandu, Nepal, is a poet and editor of Layalama Online Magazine. His poems are published in Rearview quarterly, Poetry Sharing Journal, Some Words, Ascent, Escritoire, Words Words Words, Zygote in My Coffee, James River Poetry Review, Sidereality, Velvet Illusion, and other printed and online magazines and also in anthologies published in USA, UK, Canada and India. Contact: pushpatuladhar@gmail.com more…

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    "Nothingness" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2022. Web. 6 Dec. 2022. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/62171/nothingness>.

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