when they call me / by a quarter / of the name i was given / by my lama,
teach me how to be / gesar’s daughter: / fierce / warrior-like / firm in the war for truth
Interpretations of our reality by outsiders telling fantastic tales have turned us into a mono-coloured one-size-fits-all single commodity.
An old man below a weeping willow / Hears the wind whipping / The leafless branches / Hanging down
Why is his blood so hot? They ask, / And I tell them — / That you were orphaned by circumstances
The fading mirage, / The offspring of those poor and clandestine tribes, / Amidst the great mountains and flowing rivers,
World, so full of people / Each one lonely within, / Strives to find that SOMEONE
I sing for all things dead and alive / For all things moving and still / For all moms who cry for their far away sons,
I am what I am / One for all / All for none, / An empty crevice
As the purple sky kisses the horizon once again / Life retires in the warmth of the chimney fire,
Review by Dechen Pemba of the film ‘Dreaming Lhasa’: For so many Tibetans born in exile, Tibet is significant as an absence, an omnipresent looming large all-encompassing void.