In my dreams, / we kissed atop a mountain
The little one / walks through the cable, / black and stretched,
Rubbing against stones and the cracks, / I stumbled inside a black hole, / The darkness aside,
Pass not through the crooked path, / for it has the fangs awaiting you, / The blood shall suffice
I saw your death yesterday in your fingers. / It was death like people had in the old days.
The only thing that breathes is the sound of engine / Relentless in its climb against the steep rugged pass
He slowly gathers up his shaggy herd / To prepares them for the lowlands,
If I die my dear ones / Don’t cry for me / For I never cried for anyone
You are nothing but everything / So simple yet so complicated
I am just a soul in a fixed / Crying for the right direction / My mind is so mixed
Poem by Tsoltim N Shakabpa: With the setting sun / In the twilight of my days / My work completed
Last Sunday on October 3rd, thousands of Tibetans went to the polls to vote for the Prime Minister and MPs of the Tibetan Government-in-Exile.
The Cat put us through hell, / Killed my kin, dreaded my mind.
This is how it will be. / We will take a walk on concrete, not blue tiles.
Forget him not / A little creature / Caged within his prison
I draw the highway to heaven / beneath the shade of hell
Silent foreboding behind prison’s door / shadows of the willow scatter across your pillow
With Mama’s loving care / Daddy’s warm smile / With home’s soothing air
Life delights and death mourns / But life goes on
Not even a petty word of farewell / One in the crowd, standing motionless