Many Nepalis put great stock in bravery, seeing no irony in praising the bloodlust of Gurkhas in the same breath as they claim for themselves the apostle of non-violence, Gautam Buddha. Yet there is no braver feat, perhaps, than coming to terms with a new reality, and embracing it not wholeheartedly, but thoughtfully. In this extraordinarily precocious poem, which won the UK’s First Story writing contest recently, 13-year-old Mukahang Limbu does precisely that. Mukahang moved from Dharan to Oxford in 2007, and took his time settling down. ‘When I Came From Nepal’ may be our first glimpse of a talented poet. With Mukahang now enrolled in a residential writing course, it won’t be our last.

When I came from Nepal

When I came from Nepal

As I clutched my suitcase …

thick hot sweat

built in the slits

of my palms, which

shook holding its cool

metal brace. We walked

into day-winds, thick

as dried out paint

on unwashed canvas.

The sky was painted

daffodil yellow. The ground

was a dirty grey.

There was a metal bird:

an array of fearful,

forgotten paint.

Missing the feeling of home

I smell the iron rust

of the Municipal Gardens.

The sour tang of home still

sits on the tip of my tongue

like the zest of sweet citrus

fizzing.

I did not know

of grey, gravel roads,

or the bright buzzing

of scarlet cars.

I did not know

of lonely red-bricked houses,

gazing strangers,

standing next to next,

military officers, in endless rows.

I did not know

of silence in the streets,

or the secret whispers on the buses,

or the sly gestures of restaurants.

I know now

In this place

where I did not know,

the things I did not know

embrace me in ways

I didn’t know