Where Tibetans Write
Each man was wearing a tall hat made from paper, and a square plank hung on his chest from the neck. On the plank were each man’s crime and a red cross. One of the men was your father.
I became motionless, / When the shadow of a ghost appeared. / My heartbeat has slowed,
As I gaze behind me at history’s road / I see a gaping wound which is Bleeding still.
Last night in a dream I passed / Through a frightening world. / Today my being is lost.
My Body shivers / My mind is empty / Waves swell restlessly on the ocean
Raise / Your wine glasses / To usher in the New Year!
An American buddy of mine, / Journeyed to the Land of Snow. / He drank a mouthful of melted snow
Dear Dondrup Gyal / Do you hear me? / There are these who say / You are a hero of our nation.
A snow mountain should be white. / It doesn’t make sense to drops of red blood.