Su_Tshant Basnet Kazi (Rajput-Chhetri)

Grid View
List View
  • su_tshant 2d

    Nothing was left, nothing but hate.
    No sense, but one.
    It began with an alien roar
    On an alien land..
    All hearts in their clenched hands.
    Men fighting against men..
    Both for love, of their own lands..
    In their minds it was justified to kill a man..
    Love they had was an alien implant..
    Hate in disguise... but;
    Justified in their minds..
    Love;such a powerful tool..
    Deadly! in the hands of those cunning..
    Equally deadly in the hands of the fools..

    When the dust settled..
    And over was the battle..
    wolves collected the bones..
    And sent the body homes..
    To baptise in the river dried..
    Under the rocky bed of fearful sky..

    They hoisted the bloodstained flags with pride..
    But the flag couldn't wipe the tears and the mother's quite didn't understand why..

    But I know..
    It's hate in disguise..
    That prevailed..
    It's hate in disguise..
    That still dwells..
    It's hate in disguise..
    That'll makes us kill.....
    You and I...
    And in our minds it'll all be justified..

  • su_tshant 2d

    Today something happened and it made me think about our police force..
    I think I figured out what is wrong with it.
    It has lots of weak souls behind those
    powerful uniforms.

  • su_tshant 2d


    my grandmother had a serious gas
    we only saw her on Sunday.
    she’d sit down to dinner
    and she’d have gas.
    she was very heavy,
    80 years old.
    wore this large glass brooch,
    that’s what you noticed most
    in addition to the gas.
    she’d let it go just as food was being served.
    she’d let it go loud in bursts
    spaced about a minute apart.
    she’d let it go
    4 or 5 times
    as we reached for the potatoes
    poured the gravy
    cut into the meat.
    nobody ever said anything,
    especially me.
    I was 6 years old.

    Only my grandmother spoke.
    after 4 or 5 blasts
    she would say in an offhand way,
    “I will bury you all!”
    I didn’t much like that:
    first farting
    then saying that.
    it happened every Sunday.
    she was my father’s mother.
    every Sunday it was death and gas
    and mashed potatoes and gravy
    and that big glass brooch.
    those Sunday dinners would
    always end with apple pie and
    ice cream
    and a big argument
    about something or other,
    my grandmother finally running out the door
    and taking the red train back to
    the place stinking for an hour
    and my father walking about fanning a newspaper in the air and
    saying, “it’s all that damned sauerkraut
    she eats!”


  • su_tshant 2d

    Growing up I didn't have much friends..
    Freedom or love..
    It's hard for a child to grow up in an environment of fear..
    It's somehow fucks up the soul..
    I often thought of living alone in the forest..
    I knew I would be alright on my own..
    I just needed to find a pack of wolves kind enough to raise me..
    Then someday I would start a family with a beautiful sloth..
    It would be a new semi slow species of subnormally fucked up..
    Unlike humans, descended of the great apes, completely fucked up..

  • su_tshant 2d

    When the wild horse gets tamed.
    It's never again the same..
    They talk with the wind but never sing..
    They dream the same old dream..
    Galloping, hoping to reach their home terrain..
    They bleed their dying hopes..
    They stand broken, gnawing ropes..

  • su_tshant 2d

    Yes there are times
    When I wish I was
    a little more courageous..
    I wish I didn't run away
    From the things I loved
    And those who loved me..
    I think, I wasn't ready..
    But when is a man ever ready?

    Taking a step back always seemed easy..
    And safe..
    I knew I wasn't gonna blast myself..
    If I stepped in the familiar steps..
    Loving always takes some courage..
    And I wasn't brave..

    Sleeping with different women..
    I held my breath..
    Trying hard not to memorize
    Their skin smell..
    Sleeping with different women ...
    I'd shed my skin..
    Not to give away my smell..

    Man, I wish I was a little more courageous..
    Little more brave..
    Little more alive..
    Little less dead..

  • su_tshant 2d

    There's a small spark of revolution inside me. Revolution against the world as it is. I can never comprehend or quite confiscate the good or the bad. There's no sense of belonging in me. I revolt secretly in my room, while drinking, refusing to take orders, breathing solitude, puking.... I do all I can to get my revolution going. There's no end to it, I do not see an end, no liberation. The end of it would mean the end of me,cause I know no other way. I refuse to surrender.

  • su_tshant 3d

    Sometimes we got drunk and did stupid things, other times we did stupid things just to prove something. We never quite had any idea what that something was or why we needed to prove it.
    One night I was in my room, when I heard a Loud bang on my door.
    "Who the Fuck is it?"

    "It's me, open the door, open the door please."

    It was my cousin, I could even recognize his voice in hell.

    I opened the door.
    He was standing there,panting and all wet.
    He at the time was as lean as I was,only few months younger than me, we had the same body type and everything. At the time we were both 14.

    "Do you have a rod?" He asked.

    "Why the fuck do you need a rod?"

    "Do you have it or not?"

    "No, I don't.. but why do you need a rod?"

    "Remember that guy "Mrinal" from the neighbouring village?"

    "Yeah! What about him?"

    "He is talking shit about my mother and I'm gonna teach him a lesson."

    "Yeah but that guy is almost 25, and big."

    "So what, do you have a rod or not.?"

    "No! I told you, but I've a bottle."

    Don't ask me how I had a bottle at the age of 14. I've always been a drinker. My first drink was with my father when I was 6 or 7. It's common here to drink form a very young age.

    "I think that'll do."

    I gave him the bottle, it was a rum bottle, much thicker than a beer bottle.
    "Do you want me to come with you?"

    "No, that's fine, you stay here."
    "I'll get that son of a bitch."

    He ran off and vanished. I sat there thinking he wouldn't do it.. there was no way he could do it..

    I slept off that night. The next morning I woke up and went to the kitchen. That's where I came to know that he had done it. He had cracked opened Mrinal's head.

    The case was later taken and settled in Panchayat.
    He had done it. He had cracked opened Mrinal's head.

  • su_tshant 5d

    I woke up feeling strange. Extremely light. Outside I could hear people mumbling but I couldn't quite make out what they were talking about or why they were at my house. I reached for my phone. It was 7 am. I walked out my room. All my neighbours were there and with them were couple of police officers. I asked them "what happened?" But they wouldn't answer. Then a painful wailing sound pierced my ears, I tracked and followed the sound. It was coming from my mother's room. She was there on the floor crying, some of my neighbours were trying hard console her. I tried to speak to her but it felt like she couldn't hear me. Then from my summer room I heard people talking but I still couldn't make out what they were talking about. I went into the room and I saw me hanging from the ceiling fan. My eyes were bulging out of my sockets. My tongue was sticking out, I was drooling from the corner of my mouth. Piss dripping from my feets and my short. My neck was broken and there I was dead, cold and stiff. They were trying to bring me down. Cutting the rope. One of the police officers was making notes.

  • su_tshant 5d

    Vampire, I'm, Phoenix

    My mother won't stop yapping.
    The sound of her voice murders every bit of my sanity.
    She wants me to get out in the light, do something.
    She can't see the impossibilities in little things with me,
    like light and brightness isn't for me.
    It's hard being me. I burn in my skin.

    She hates my drinking.
    She can't see that I'm drowning and I use the beer bottle as snorkel to breathe in alcohol.
    Alcohol makes me bold.
    Makes me living.
    I'm a fucking vampire and I can't come out my coffin without the sunscreen.
    I burn and burst into flames and I'm smoke and I'm ash.
    I can't stand a beam.

    Her spells work violently against me. They convulse my soul into suicidal and murderous convulsions.
    It's now than then.
    It's either her or me.
    I run into the bathroom and try to drown myself to sink.
    I stab myself, cut my wrists, break my ribs and bludgeon myself to death.
    I kill me and burn my body into smoke and ashes.

    I spend fucking hours mushing, and molding my ash into some kind of shape.
    I fucking breathe life into it with my alcoholic breath.
    There I go, after hours of kill and cutting, crushing and creating.
    I finally create myself again.
    Still Imperfect, still full of pain.
    But strong enough to go on for another day.

    I swear to fucking God.
    If I had no way to release all this, I would've already killed myself or some fucking body.

    It's always you or somebody.