Tsampa has height history
In independent Tibet she was our stance
White as snow and as shell
That was our principle for follow beings

Tsampa has height history
From great, grandfather

To great, grandson
Entwined like smooth white scarves

Tsampa has height history
In the glory days
We sang with Tsampa
In the crises we prayed with it

Your father was an avid Tsampa eater

You should take his place
It has taste of our root
Tsampa has never betrayed us.

A Sonnet for freedom

From the day down, human beings fought for
Blood, brutality, barbaric beat and besides bodies buried

French revolution, English revolution, Russia revolution, life pained and paid
From heartless to cell to death to unknown places

Equality, liberty and fraternity in hearts
They received tortures, guillotine and mutilations galore
A worth to be paid to credit for feat
Gold to dip to find, an indolence and procrastination a void

The spade and the instruments be your weapons

Singing freedom songs go and go before tedious slumber,
A filled tummy is boar and we live for principle
Linger and slothfulness is sin that kills age to death

For fruit, futile soil, water and labour is obligation and
For freedom, patriotism, lives and sacrifices are like fruit


I am angry
Blood drinking
Nectar tasting
Should I take former
As they toasted my blood
I lost my chaste
Bloody mosquitoes

Troops from far other nights
And last night
Tonight may be
A challenge, solaced
“I am Buddhist”,
But, I am angry now
Shall I kill or
Let surrender?

Some smoke straws
Some incense coils
Some electrify all-outs
Addiction and adaptation
They brag me
Singing hiss
Shitting disease
Hoping calm went in vain

Battle for sleepless eyes
Treaty and pact
Human kinds do
I will tell you
Morrow, either
Bloody or brotherly between
I and mosquitoes

Sick tongue

An exiled tongue is in cough
A blend of incomplete phonetics
Neither my father’s tongue
Nor theirs and others
Tibetan in English and English in Tibetan
Unlearned Hindi-an addicted- yet empty
English is tongue of gentleman language

But I am victim of my own native tongue
A cough of bit English and fewest bazaars Hindi
But, still I claimed that I am a Tibetan

Helpless boy

So, destitute the child

Kinder-garden life he dreamed
They were enforced labour
In despair, nothing but solaced pat
Neighbours have desperate life too
Freezing nights and days empty
We saw him
That poor boy
On the street in the shabby clothes

Primary school, he heard
With books saw others to school
But, an empty tin, we found
Him near the doors
They never returned or
Heard about since forced labour
An orphanage begged for stand

Theft and cases, the boy
Twice incarcerated but in teen
Nuisance, being such pest in society
This was his bread
Good or bad I don’t know
Here today, disordered there next
Ghost of children families used his name

A reluctant culprit
A mysterious villain of green uniform
Now, nowhere to see him

Exiled life

I lost my childhood here
But I was born in Tibet

My life is on two feet on two ragged corners
A land of snow and expulsion
Longing mother cried distance but red dragon
Crouched and snatched my nest
Crumbly shanties, my soul haunted my soil
In toils and strives I grew no identity
Exile boy of no home here and Tibet
Longing mother cried on my chained neck

But a dream of free crone on liberated air
I live and we live
Exile is sojourn and Tibet is my home
But exile feet seemed finding roots
With cements and steels and bricks
Broader Rangzen or crucial autonomy few in pragmatism
Some in demonstration, a quarter on rosary or others unheard
Longing mother cried in my indolence said

“Wake up”

In dilemma

Rides the pack peeped the sun
Purloined face smiles from snowcapped mount
Half eyes, a path exist for distant between
No starting, no ending but a suspicious path

A trap of ancient road or life lane of modern
Cloud in living, amidst the black dots of sky
White cranes like naval form flying in disarray
Lovely birds lost to somewhere
Here, the fly to wild area or town

But I am in dilemma
Rumbling flows blue brook in arc
Down the foot between the ghostly vale

History of four season a log bridge exist
Standing a man looking the distant path, a musing traveler
A trap of ancient road or life lane of modern
Here the traveler seemed in study of either

But I am in dilemma
A song or shout from somewhere echoed
A shepherd or venture neither seen
In blend of grasses and fears

Ewes and rams grazed and spied up
A long bridge there far away
A trap of ancient road or life lane of modern
A shout or song all in motion
To a log bridge or unknown path
But I am in dilemma


Our songs, but a dignity of voice
By rhythmic dance
We sing anthem, a spirit of unity
To hoist our identity
We drum beats to hear
The world we are here
The immortal soul of oneness
The cascade of Tibetaness

We fly doves of peace
Not a bombardment of world piece
Nor stony limits over racial wall
But a note of universal will
We revealed our splendid Potala
To exhibit an antiquity, the great Mandala
Creating a bridge of cultural love
The land we have to live
We highlight forum for entente

A world where we live in intact
A hope of just
To be lived the best

True account

I’m a pauper
Desperate of country

My grandfather once owned

I am a lonely lamb
Waiting for ewe’s care
My grandmother once received

I’m a solitude pole star
Amidst the big diggers
My elder spent once in one

I have a tainted tongue
Stammering native language
Other generations once fluent in

I have in shabby jeans
Longing for a Chuba
Yesterday my brother attired on

Note: Chuba – traditional Tibetan dress


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