Author Archives: Dom

About Dom

Born in a very small South Asian Country of Bhutan, brought up in Nepal and now living in South Australian city of Adelaide. A self-paced student of social sciences, poetry and media, Dom is a Civil engineering student by profession. You may be drinking a lot when you are internally burning; good poetry sates his internal thirst.

What you cannot!

You can destroy my violin and unstring every bit of its element, but who can alien the notes that are down to my nerves and veins?

You can destroy my house, you can demolish my temple of my prayers, simplicity and faithfulness   but who can demolish my home that has but only love for all your hates?

You can destroy the yellowed pages of my songs and burn down to ashes every single edge of its very physicality but who can burn the pulsating vibes of those songs that are switched to my lips?

You can destroy the path I may travel and tread down the lane of my interest tomorrow, you may close down all those ways, but who can destroy my fate, who can demolish my destination?

You can destroy my bed not my dreams

You can destroy my hands not my labor

You can destroy my eyes not my foresight

You can destroy my ears not my silence

You can snatch my rights for my love of a land,

But not my loyalty, not the history.

You cannot steal my consciousness.

© Dom, 03-04-2014


I give you a rose

In this valentine-

Decked in an ornate beauty

Of a virgin flower.

It is vested in you now-

For final trials in your court of love;

For if I’m loved in return

You will hear the rhythms of my loving heart.

For if my love is not returned

You will hear my melancholy love songs.


{Inspiration: ‘Sometimes with One I Love’ by Walt Whitman}

©Dom 14th February 2013


Poetry Drinks De, Songs Sing Me.

Words burn out of their spirits

As an old man spills philosophies

From inside a closed bar

In the bulky pages of silence and innocence


Wind foretells the humming stories of truth

As I ponder upon the sacrosanct lies

That with time has stained humanity.


 Rocks and sands sing songs of the feeblest ones

While rains drain their sorrows in the might sea

I didn’t write poetry in words

I didn’t sing a song that has no life.

Poetry drinks me, songs sing me.  


26-09-2012 ©Dom

Dom Kafley, Adelaide

Falling Dreams

Standing by a bus stop this very chilly evening
As I ponder upon the wonders of this vigilant show
The thin fibres of my dreams keep withering when diamond
Balls of snow keep falling on my head and shoulder.

There are the stupefyingly freshest fleshy plumes of smoke
Surpassing over the skyscrapers
From the east
From the west
From the north
And from the south,
The fantasy pillows of the soft woollen clouds burst
Into the very tiniest, very cutest daughter specks
And no sooner the sky becomes a transparent hollow glass
Where from I could see the farthest natural horizon
The orifice of the heaven-
Borderless and baseless, indivisible and spotless

There’s the strangest baton of growling wind –
That in a second defies the modesty of the breeze.
The black cloud, like a seductive woman
Blasphemously stretches its quixotic curves,
…………and images
………… the fluidic freedom of the skies.
There are the distant stars glowing with faintest wand of scented rays
The pollution laden earth holistically bids adieu to her falcate sibling sun
The silver-perched moon peeps me through the shielding pillows of clouds
The fading rays of the besmirched bulbs keep chasing
The shadows under the roofs and branches,
That solitary convoy of moths sticking on the lamp post
Remind me every now and then the icy hands of death before my arduous mission
My dreams wander with those newborn tiny specks again;
North and south
East and west
The sweetest cries of the old cardinal
Which are bringing solace to my naiad ears
Intrepidly keep defying the evening thunder of the winter sky
The merry dancing heads of the lavenders and roses, lilies and chamelies
In the travesty of the pacifying vents of chilling winter wind
Polish the broken heart of the street beggar,
The few remaining dry leaves on the branches sing of my lost love
Merrily In the cross chorus of koyel,
The road looks upon me with scepticism;
If I am diverging,
If I am lost                                                                                                                                             And
If I am lonely!
The temple bells are an earthy peace to ring for in this very evening!
As I remain a part of this deaf magic show of the nature-
Again the diamond balls of snow keep falling on my head and shoulder
And my dreams are falling with this evening snow.

( Dom N. Kafley )