Nabin Kumar Chhetri

When the evening trickled inside my tent
the sun had turned into an orange flame
perishing behind the hill.
On the other side, the lake opened like a
mirror unveiled after a vigil.
I poured some kerosene into the coal and made a fire.
Blue flames leaped into the black haze of nightfall.
Near the camp, I lit a candle
and covered it with a slender open glass.

At midnight, I woke up to a sound
and thought I heard your voice.
I lit the hurricane lamp.
and hurried outside.
It was quiet.
The darkness and the lake had become inseparable.
Just the sound of water lapping gently
on the rocks
and the wind in the trees.