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Ostrich or a Dove

Wednesday 26 December 2007, by Tenzing Rigdol

Ostrich or a Dove

Days are the same:
Cyclic sun, moon and
The quarterly monsoon rain.
I still am the same
With no name
And country lost in vain.
"Refugee… refugee"
That’s how they spit on me.
Now it has become an awful stain.
In pity and sympathy we quietly remain,
Like a stray dog waging its nauseating tail.
Hopes drained,
Wrinkles framed,
And my poor countrymen
Getting used to the musty pain.
Oh shame… shame.
How far do we want to play this delusional game?
We have screwed our forefathers’ virtuous names.
Dammed
In-between the greed-built walls,
With no new names to call,
Like an ostrich - a bird size of a truth,
I gaze at the swift doves
Sliding effortlessly overhead.

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