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
We are all late, except him / We are late for the ceremony of death,
For ages / I have been gone / from the home in the Cold Mountains
A lone yellow leaf / nods on a brown branch / a soulful scene, / wind blows
When a girl of fifteen is not sent to school but is given over to the milk cows; / When a charming, slender girl does not marry but is used by a swindler;