And it’s squeezed hard
to the core
in the juice extraction machine,
a ripe sugarcane stalk

One after another
having thrust
my hands /legs forcibly
into the grinding jaws
of the sugarcane crusher
the pulse switch is pressed
in a sluggish motion
pale, anemic
eyes of the boy

sullen and feeble, joints,
rind, and blue river
of his blood vessels
is flooded in a second,
his purple bloodless swollen eyes

Sahib!
The Juice is ready!

Black, puckered,
and shriveled,
his bare hands in the juice
as if ready to burn
the households of my fiery flights
along with castles of civilizations
erected close by.

With a heavy heart,
I receive the glass of juice,
as if he is saying,
in me too there were, Sahib,
so many glasses of juice,
one you took and consumed,
the rest others grabbed
to gulp them down
their thirst throats.

Translated from the Nepali by Yuyutsu Sharma