Kathmandu night, rain has just.stopped. Unreasonably early.pre-monsoon, making things wet.when they should be dry. Which.makes the local koel feel like.bursting forth into song. Bird, do.you realise it is two in the.morning? And the hard-working.people of Paton would like a bit.of a respite from your koho koho.questioning? You have all.morning, midday and evening to.practise, so why do you disturb.the whole tole at this hour of.deep slumber? Your call has sent.poets of all cultures into.rhapsodies, but tonight all you.succeed at is preventing sleep..As you keep at it from the.eucalyptus bough just outside my.window, I am unable to recollect.gurgling brooks, daffodils,.secluded grottos, or wide open.skies. The only association I can.draw to your koho koho is the.poop poop poop of rice mills in.the hills. They attach whistles in.the exhaust to alert surrounding.villages that husking is in.progress. I have no rice to husk.today, cuckoo. Don't sing into.my window. At least, turn the.other way.
