Updated Bio: Sushant Thapa has published Nine books of English poetry, namely: The Poetic Burden and Other Poems (Authorspress, New Delhi, 2020), Abstraction and Other Poems (Impspired, UK, 2021), Minutes of Merit (Haoajan, Kolkata, 2021), Love’s Cradle (World Inkers Printing and Publishing, New York, USA and Senegal, Africa, 2023), Spontaneity: A New Name of Rhyme (Ambar Publication House, New Delhi, 2023), Chorus of Simplicity and Other New Poems (Ukiyoto Publishing, 2024), Finding My Soul in Kathmandu (Ukiyoto Publishing, 2024), The Walking Rebel Micropoems and Poems (Transcendent Zero Press, Houston, Texas, USA) and My Grandfather Had Been a Cowboy (Ukiyoto Publishing, 2025). He has also published a collection of flash fiction and short stories titled “The One Rupee Taker and Other Stories from Nepal” published in 2024 by Ukiyoto Publishing. Sushant has translated a book of poems by Nepalese Poet Kamal Dhungana entitled “Dark Shadows”. It was published by Authorspress, New Delhi, India in 2022. He is an English lecturer in Biratnagar, Nepal.
Life is full of challenges, and everyone faces moments when the path forward seems uncertain. During these difficult times, one of the strongest forces that helps us continue is hope. Hope is more than just a feeling; it is a guiding light that gives us the strength to keep moving even when everything seems dark.
When people go through hardships such as loss, failure, or loneliness, hope reminds them that tomorrow can be better. It allows us to believe in new beginnings and motivates us to work toward them. Without hope, even the smallest obstacles can feel overwhelming, but with hope, even the greatest challenges become bearable.
Hope is not blind optimism. It does not ignore reality, but rather teaches us to face it with courage. It inspires creativity, resilience, and patience. A hopeful person can turn problems into opportunities for growth, because hope provides the energy to search for solutions instead of giving up.
In my own life, I have found that hope often comes from the people I love and from the goals I set for myself. Whenever I have felt discouraged, remembering my dreams and the support around me has given me the courage to try again. Each small step forward becomes easier when hope is present in my heart.
Hope is like a seed planted deep within us. With care and faith, it grows stronger every day, even in the hardest seasons. For me, hope is not only a personal strength but also a gift I want to share with others. By encouraging and supporting each other, we can spread hope and remind the world that no night lasts forever—the dawn always comes.
Gongye Road Primary School, Gaocheng District, Shijiazhuang City, Hebei Province
Plant a girl in spring
The spring breeze gently wakes her up
Green grass dyes her hair
Soft willows comb her tresses
Little bees hurry over with water pots
To feed her the sweetest drink
She puts on a colorful dress
Wears dewdrop silver earrings
And has a costume party with butterflies
……
She blooms
The whole world knows
2. 《秋天的课堂》
河北省石家庄市藁城区贾市庄镇贯庄小学 薛润楠 9岁
叶子们悄悄落下来
秋天的教室开学了
秋风老师教他们
跳舞、唱歌、做游戏
他们用自己的姿势
欢迎下一个春天
Autumn Classroom
Xue Runnan, 9 years old
Guanzhuang Primary School, Jiashizhuang Town, Gaocheng District, Shijiazhuang City, Hebei Province
Leaves fall quietly
The autumn classroom starts its term
Teacher Autumn Wind teaches them
To dance, sing, and play games
In their own postures
They welcome the next spring
线卷
我在老箱子里翻出一筒线卷
索性避开了从屋顶闯入的
鬼祟的雨
与背叛木梁而塌下的泥
没有尘染没有破损
几十年的线
把一群男女从婴儿缝成人
在几茬的棉花上从老虎绣成鸳鸯
索性是被珍藏的线卷
我手捏着软木芯的柄
我要怎样安排这几十或几百寸棉纤
在她身上插一根针当作饰品
还是把她扯下又缠上新的榆木的芯
拿不定主意
但决不会再让她缝棉衣缝布片
也不会让她绣老虎绣鸳鸯
找到她久别的丈夫
——熏黑的油灯
与他同葬
Spool of Thread
I rummaged through an old trunk and found a spool of thread
Thus evading the furtive rain
That intruded through the roof
And the mud that betrayed the wooden beams and collapsed
Untarnished, unbroken
This thread, after decades
Stitched a group of men and women from infants into adults
On several crops of cotton, embroidered tigers turned into mandarin ducks
It was a cherished spool of thread, indeed
I hold the soft wooden core’s handle
How should I arrange these dozens or hundreds of inches of cotton fibers?
Stick a needle into her as an ornament?
Or tear her off and wind her around a new elm core?
Undecided
But I’ll never let her sew cotton-padded clothes or cloth pieces again
Nor let her embroider tigers or mandarin ducks
Find her long-lost husband
——the smoke-blackened oil lamp
And bury them together
Su Yun, 17 years old, is a member of the Chinese Poetry Society and a young poet. His works have been published in more than ten countries. He has published two poetry collections in China, namely Inspiration from All Things and Wisdom and Philosophy, and one in India titled WITH ECSTASY OF MUSINGS IN TRANQUILITY. He has won the Guido Gozzano Orchard Award in Italy, the Special Award for Foreign Writers in the City of Pomezia, and was praised by the organizing committee as the “Craftsman of Chinese Lyric Poetry”. He has also received the “Cuttlefish Bone” Best International Writer Award for those under 25.
I was heading back to Tucson after I had made a Drug Run of eighty kilos of Cocaine to Sacramento. It was originally meant to be delivered to San Francisco but an earthquake of devastating proportion caused the destination to be changed.
I finally boarded my flight to Phoenix after my stopover in Los Angeles.
Whenever traveling alone it seems I always get seated next to someone with some kind of annoying trait or disgusting habit. The incessant talkers that go on even after you express disinterest. There’s the drunks with an unpleasant attitude . Or those with body odor or with an excessive amount of cologne or perfume which is just as displeasing. Close talkers with bad breath. Others who pick their nose or clean out ear wax. Then they offer to shake hands with the one they just used to pick their nose. You get the idea. I do wonder if the person that gets seated next to me may find me annoying. I’m occasionally drunk, seldom stinky, borderline attractive, depending on the border and my demeanor couldn’t be classified as unpleasant. I am an absolute pleasure , how could anyone not enjoy an encounter with me? This time fate does me a solid and my traveling companion in Seat 12 A , the window seat on this flight to Phoenix, is not a beautiful woman but instead a scholarly looking fellow. His face is wrinkled, weathered and pocked, a testament to his many bouts with the challenges that life has thrown at him. As I sit down he uncaringly stuffs his jacket under the seat. He strokes his scraggly beard then pushes the call assistance light to summon the Flight Attendant. He stares at me with a blank expression not showing any emotion. It seems as though he’s sizing me up.
I notice the Flight Attendant coming toward us. She’s working her way up the aisle through the passengers still boarding, stashing their items in the overhead storage and searching for their seats.
“Good morning sir. How can I be of assistance?” She greets us in a melodic voice while reaching to turn off the call light.
” Well let me tell you that as soon as possible, I need three of those baby bottle sized Whiskeys you sell. No need for a glass, water or ice. Just the Whiskey and I don’t care what brand. And how about you there Pancho you want something? I’m buying.” The scholarly fellow asks.
“Sure , thanks. I’ll have a Whiskey as well in the baby bottle. It doesn’t matter which brand. ” I responded.
“I’m unable to serve you gentlemen before we depart but I will get your order as soon as we reach our cruising altitude and the pilot turns off the fasten seat belt sign.” She says.
“You need to know I am an alcoholic and must have my medication otherwise I can’t be held responsible for my actions. And Pancho here appears as though he may possibly suffer from the same affliction. How is it that I noticed when I first entered there were people enjoying cocktails up front there. What gives?” The self proclaimed dipsomaniac asks.
“Sir, that’s the First Class you’re in Coach. Those passengers pay extra for that privilege and service.” The waitress in the sky explained.
“So let me understand. I’m just second class and it all comes down to money? Another example of the inequality of Capitalism and it smells of bullshit! Do I appeal to the head of the Airline to protest this bourgeoisie oppression or would this be something you could possibly remedy? ” He says.
I am unable to hide my reaction from the humorous exchange and I begin to laugh. The attendant leaves hastily shaking her head in disgust although still with her smile. She returns moments later with six baby bottles of Scotch.
“A gift from the Airline. My pleasure. And I know who you are, mister. So mind your manners. ” She warns.
” Thank you ever so much.You shall be generously rewarded by the Gods my dear. Ya see Pancho sometimes ya just have to kick the rules in the balls .”
I wasn’t offended or insulted with what some might consider a racist comment with the Pancho reference. There was no malice intent in his expression describing my ethnicity. Although I’ve always been under the impression that my appearance was more Italian than Mexican. The ball kicker hands me two bottles of scotch and keeps four for himself. One extra for him as commission for his effort he explains.
” So what’s your story Pancho? Everybody’s got a story, some just not as interesting as others. So what do you do? You a drug dealer or a crop picker on vacation? Are you in this country legally or are you one of those border jumpers?” He inquires.
“I don’t want to disappoint you but I am a Priest from Nogales ,Arizona. I just delivered donations of food and clothing to the earthquake victims in San Francisco. I’m headed back gotta work Bingo at the church tonight.”
“Son of a bitch! Are you fucking feeding me a line of bullshit? I would have never guessed that even if I was clairvoyant. You should be wearing your Collar so you don’t catch people off guard. It’s not fair going undercover. So how’s that God fellow doin? Ya think he ever feels guilty about destroying people’s lives by his ruthless ungodly actions?
I think of his assholiness as quite a prick. It doesn’t matter he doesn’t exist anyway. Don’t want to offend you or your beliefs so I won’t give you my take on him or religion. Gonna have to wait until I’m drunk. Then ya can give me a Peso for my thoughts. Here’s to your Jesus and the rest of the fictitious characters in that Bible. And to all the religious fanatics as well . What a fairy tale ,a book of fables written by religious fanatics, numerous authors , interpreted by an unknown number of editors. Thrown together hundreds of years ago without any factual data. And with events stolen directly from other religions. I’d rather worship the spirit in these tiny bottles. At least I know it exists and it tells the truth.” He says raising his bottle in a toast that excludes me. So that was an example of him sparing my feelings by not expressing his opinion? I found it curious that he was concerned with possibly insulting my religious ideals but had no problem referring to me as Pancho. I truly liked this character. There was realism in his demeanor and a fire of wisdom burning in his eyes . His views no matter how socially or politically incorrect were sung and voiced without derogatory intent.
“So what do you have to say for yourself Mr. Dipsomaniac? You do anything else other than drink and give people a hard time? Are you a mean drunk? And what experience was so traumatic in your life that it resulted in you becoming an alcoholic as you refer to yourself? Another question, the Flight Attendant said she knew who you were. What did she mean? And…” He interrupts me.
“Hold on there Padre! I’m not one of your misguided flock that you can flog with your rosary and threaten omnipotent retribution for indiscretions. Just thought we would share philosophies on the complexity of women or maybe discuss a favorite or worst book you’ve read. I’m not much for sports or political issues. But you want to pick at my psyche, get personal, have me bare my naked soul and we haven’t even gotten off the ground. Not gonna happen Padre.” He speaks without taking a breath.
The airplane begins to make its way down the runway. We are thrusted into the cloudless sky as the ground below shrinks into minute images.
“It’s only the take offs and landings that rattle my nerves.” He says.
The fourth miniature bottle of Scotch meets with his lips and is emptied in one loud gulp. The aircraft levels off at the pilot’s designated altitude and the ding sounds indicating the fasten seat belt light has been turned off. Immediately after, he reaches once again for the Assistance Button and pushes at it with force.
“Gotta find our Angel of Mercy to stoke the fire. Ya ready for another there Padre?” My new best friend askes.
“No, I am just fine at the moment. I’ll wait it out till Phoenix , have a connecting flight to Tucson. They say if ya die in Tucson your soul will have to catch a connecting flight to heaven.”
“Cute, not funny, just cute. And you can spare me your Reader’s Digest witticisms. Save them for the Bingo crowd. Have you always been a servant to your imaginary deity or was there a time when you cut loose? Understand what I’m getting at?”
“Yes I understand and absolutely, I had an abundant supply of paint when I was younger with which I generously painted many a town red. However the time came around when I wrestled with the ” Better to serve in hell than Reign in heaven” quote. I concluded that I could become more useful as a Priest than as a party animal.”
“Familiar with Milton I see.”
“Yes and with Voltaire, Moliere, Rousseau and the entire pack of howling Philosophers. The Beat Writers and Poets as well.”
“Quite impressed there Padre Pancho. But I am starting to develop a severe case of doubt concerning you being a man of the cloth. In fact I don’t believe you are a Priest at all or for that matter a Catholic or even a Christian. Where the hell is the Attendant? I am drying out .” He says while looking down the aisle front and back.
“Would you like me to fetch her for you?”
“I see her in back there readying the drink wagon now. Guess I’ll have to ride out the drought.”
“Here take my other bottle, you need it more than I .” I offer.
He accepts my gift displaying a huge grin.
” I don’t care who the hell you are Padre, you’re okay in my book.”
I’m trying to figure out who this guy could be. He didn’t seem familiar to me at all. I was sure he wasn’t an actor or a famous musician. He couldn’t be a politician like a Senator or Representative. I was leaning toward the Arts, maybe a famous Painter or Film Director. Then it all became obvious to me who this character was and what he did. He was a writer, a famous Author. I had read a lot of his work of Transgressive Fiction. This guy had written a great number of books and was a celebrated poet as well.
“Let me introduce myself. I’m Father Santiago. I’m enjoying our time together on this flight. You’re quite the character.” I said.
” Still going with the Father act huh? Well I’m not buying what you’re selling. So is it alright if I just call you Santiago?”
“Sure, Santiago will be just fine.”
As we shook hands he introduced himself.
” Pleased to meet you Santiago. I’m Henry Chinaski. Henry Chinaski is my name. My one friend calls me Hank.”
” Okay Hank. I should have known.”
Judge Santiago Burdon
Stray Dogs and Deuces Wild: Cautionary Tales, Not Real Poetry, Quicksand Highway, Fingers in the Fan, Tequila’s Bad Advice: Poetry With the Worm, Lords of the Afterglow: Renegades and Noblemen, Overdose of Destiny: Impulse Fiction, Architect of Havoc, A Charlatan’s Aphorisms: Junk Drawer Poetry.
They Came（it was published by Cathexis Northwest Press）
Tuol Sleng like a poisonous flower exhaling a piercing venom.
The palm trees swayed beneath the faltering shadow, a procession of bones
—the dead— labeled as intellectuals.
They came like a gust of wind, They came like a herd of wild beasts. They came slaughter upon slaughter, cursing Tuol Sleng, damning its streets and rivers.
They regarded themselves as fanatical idealists, But never, made the place a paradise. Passion torched it into a fiery hell.
They came with frantic lusts. They came to Cambodia— its flesh drenched in rouge.
When Tuol Sleng opened, Moonlight buried people in a sunken pit of earth.
