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Latest addition : 16 June 2014.

Poems written by Tibetans

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  • Here is a Lesson (You are Good Enough)

    16 June 2014, by Kalsang Dolkar

    I wrote to you, almost every single day. I wrote as though my words would bring me back to you; as though I were about to die of some terminal illness, and the words that I was churning out would be the last ones I’d ever send to you. I wrote as though these desperate metaphors and similes would fill the ever-expanding hole in my life – but how is that possible when you, the love child of lonely nights and summer rain, have become my life – because when I rested beside (...)

  • The flowers of Solitude

    31 July 2013, by Londen Phuntsok

    Over the smoky charred cow-dung cakes under the luminous stars, of sobbing zephyr armada of mosquitoes, been repelled and squashed beside the creaking noise, of the silent night. They speak about the marvel’s of the world of those apparent news and views they heard of , china newest obsession and everyday update of their veiling neighbor. With every ounce of sad news they forbear and hail " fate is all " a chatter box joins and mutters into what is hot, cold, bitter in (...)

  • Memories of Lhasa

    2 July 2013, by Shelkar Lingpa

    Although all phenomena are manifest due to causal factors, Each and every instance is devoid of inherent existence, O precious Lama, teacher of the infallible law of karma, Pray bless me, your humble disciple, with compassion. Like a dazed nomad without much learning and knowledge, In essence, with excruciating longing for my beloved Lhasa, The following muse gushes forth from my heart, Pray my good friends, share with me these memories! I miss Lhasa where Flocks of cranes (...)

  • I heard someone in the street...

    9 December 2011, by Tendor

    I heard someone in the street say This was the year when you lost Your home and your job to pay For freedom’s dear cost. But the street lamps silently rejoice That in fact you found your light And your soul and your voice Amid the dark of the night. I heard someone in the street weeping: What about the jailed and the slain? And the buried and the missing? Will they come back again? But look, their faces shine in our mirrors With wrinkles dug by smiles, not age. May their faith (...)

  • The Vigil

    7 December 2011, by Tsoltim N. Shakabpa

    With the setting sun In the twilight of my days My work completed I sit in an easy chair And await the creeping darkness of night Into the wee hours of the morning When dew drops fall from your eyes This vigil I must keep And fight off temptations To fall asleep I know His knock will come when morning dawns All I want to do is exit gracefully When He comes for me And accept gratefully Whatever He has for me And when I am gone Think not of me in coming tomorrows But in (...)

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