Soft Storm by Abhi Subedi (Symbols, Themes, Imagery, Summary, Analysis and Interpretation)- Grade 12- English NEB

A prolific poet, playwright, and critic, Abhi Subedi (1945) has remained one of the eminent personalities in the field of literature in Nepal. Born in Sabla village of Terhathum district, Subedi has written several plays including Dreams of Peach Blossoms (2001) and Fire in the Monastery (2003). Subedi, who taught at the Central Department of English, Tribhuvan University, for around 40 years, has poetry collections like Manas (1974) and Chasing Dreams: Kathmandu Odyssey (1996) and Shabdara Chot (1997) to his credit.

In the present poem entitled “Soft Storm,” Subedi, with a touch of compassion, contemplates the absurdities of tumultuous times.

I became soft

I became soft

after I heard the tumult and

crashed on the eerie stillness;

I inherited the soft

when the sky grew like crocuses

over stones and

became five inches taller

that very night

when moon skidded down

your walls

speaking in the language

of posters and politics

rituals and reasons.

I became soft

as the softness rose like a gale

tearing my roofs

that very night

when the moon sang of

lampposts and gutters

in this seamless city.

I became soft

when homeless children in Thamel

cried with hunger under the bat-bearing

trees of Kesharmahal;

I became soft

when I returned

from the melee

where ceremony

dances with mad steps

on the unwedded gardens of history

growing around protruded rocks.

I became soft

when I alone turned to you

leaving deep dents of words

on these white sheets;

I became soft storm

when I saw a forlorn child

carrying transistor radio around his neck

run around wailing

to find his mother

in the corridors of violent history.

I became a soft storm

when I saw a man

beaten mercilessly

for no reason

before his family

by nobody for no reason

in no sensible times.

I became soft

when I saw

a blood-stained shirt

speaking in the earth’s ears

with bruised human lips

in the far corner

under the moon

of history and dreams

playing hide and seek

in open museums

of human times.

I became soft

since you gave words

but did not listen to them,

gave storms

but didn’t wait to see its Leela

over the silent stone.

Crocuses have grown

over the stone–

I saw last moonlit night,

storms have loitered

in the narrow lanes

where I too have walked alone

pensively in rain tears

and little chuckles of sun laughter

that have risen and melted

like rainbow.

Soft is my storm

that rages and rages

over silent pages,

silent stones,

silent forlorn shirts carrying war memories,

silent dilapidations of gods’ abodes

where dances and songs

are buried under helpless divine debris

inhuman courtyards.

Soft is what you saw,

I honor your mooneyes

but the mad time spools

winding all that we see and live with,

stone growing in flower

moon humming melodies

history rushing under the lamppost

and over deforested land,

birds singing of bizarre journeys

over the warming earth

rhododendron blooming in winter,

mother earth telling of the tumults

in the songs of the sad birds.

All in unison have created

this soft gale.

But in these hard times

I want to melt like a rainbow

my soft storm in your minuscule sky.

My soft storm

dances in ripples

of your uneasy lake.