When I was born
my mother said
you are a refugee.
Our tent on the roadside
smoked in the snow.
On your forehead
between your eyebrows
there is an R embossed
my teacher said.
I scratched and scrubbed,
on my forehead I found
a brash of red pain.
I have three tongues
the one that sings
is my mother tongue.
The R on my forehead
between my English and Hindi
the Tibetan tongue reads:
RANGZEN
Born refugee then to die refugee would be a disgrace.
So I take this fight personally,
this war to my heart and battle passionately.
I want to be in my own country within my own boundary.
When I get home,
I’ll smear my forehead with the soil drenched
in the blood of my brave countrymen.
Mixture of flesh and bone of their sacrifice.
Then, like Indians I would dance around the fire
to awake the silent soul to evoke the courage
And I shall speak to the mountains who’ve seen it all.
O! holy spirit I shall take this campaign to the next level
Coz, we got distances to travel.
Once again rivers would be turning red.
Bodies would be dropped; lifeless. But, they won’t be ours.
We shall drive the enemy out that’s for sure without a doubt.
And this time we shall emerge victorious.
So, my compatriots pack your bag
We would be going home soon.