An Offering to the Poets of the Land of Snow

My Body shivers
My mind is empty
Waves swell restlessly on the ocean
From the shore my eyes look to my homeland.
Each teardrop that falls from my eyes
Mixes with the rising ocean spray

My feet are firmly planted on the crowed earth.
Wide-eyed I look to the blue sky
Each page of poetry from the land of snows
Climbs the magic rope1 to the graves of the ancestors in the sky
Spoke truly to the sun and the moon
They enter the heart of an exile poet
Living on the other side of the world.
Moving poetry
Fill my living heart with light.

Listen carefully
You will be able to hear the snow mountain crying
You will be able to see the wild yak sharpening the points of his horns
I hope that the mountain’s experience of crying
Will be a sign that the mountain can laugh
I hope the wild yak sharpening its horns on a rock
Will be the energy that can travel freely through the mountain pastures

Snow mountains
I hope the stream of your tears continues
Wild yak
I hope you continue to sharpen your horns
Snow lion
I hope you go on to proclaim from the peaks of the Himalayas the roar of truth.

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