Inheritance
When my father left his body / I inherited a wooden cup
Old and new poetry written by Tibetans, listed by newest first.
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When my father left his body / I inherited a wooden cup
May your life be firmer than the rock, / May your life be longer than the longest river,
They were in full foliage / The dandelions of Tibet, / When the hail stormed
Since I lost the hiking trail / I sat under a virgin spruce tree
Coloured threads, thin plastics / Strips of paper with myriad quotes, / Diamond crusted silver butterfly
Now the wish of a poor poet / Is fulfilled
Homer – the land gifted / With boundless natural beauty
Yes, Alaskans, we’ve driven enough plastic vehicles, / Yet they failed to take us to the Virgin Mother Land.
The wish of my Amala / Was for me to become / A Buddhist monk
The best poems are written not on papers / But by the swans on the shores / the winds on the highway
And after years of escape and separation / You still recollect those native hills / Those prayer-flags,
As I gaze behind me at history’s road / I see a gaping wound which is Bleeding still.
I love you no less than my own self / This spring night I invite you to be my guest / You are my comrade;
Denali – the mountain endowed / With beauty and charms
Last night in a dream I passed / Through a frightening world. / Today my being is lost.
My Body shivers / My mind is empty / Waves swell restlessly on the ocean
Wandering in the woods / Inhaling the tranquillity / Of nature
Who knows what sunshine / the spring has in its fold for the / soul yearning for its shore
Raise / Your wine glasses / To usher in the New Year!
World, so full of people / Each one lonely within, / Strives to find that SOMEONE