I am just a soul in a fixed / Crying for the right direction / My mind is so mixed
Smell of freshly churned butter tea / Coming from our 4 ft. square kitchen, / In our small home back in Bir / Where our long sighs tell our grief
In the cold snowy mountains / In Tibet / Her nomad parents — / named her Tenzin / A privilege worth risking it all.
They say / you become what you eat / So she ate flowers / All these years
I lay on my bed crying holding onto my Mother’s chupa / that always sits on my bed, / I wiped off the tears / And put on her chupa
I am a dog / A Tibetan dog from Kyegu / A few days before the earth shook
The Cat put us through hell, / Killed my kin, dreaded my mind.
This is perhaps what pushes writers like Sonam and Tsundue to their desks every morning to sing the songs of freedom on behalf of their silenced brethren behind the pale hills of the Himalayas. Their songs are sad and touching of course, but they are never depressing.
The increasingly stringent control imposed since 1994 by China on the works of Tibetan writers in Tibet has effectively muzzled the creative energy that has been oozing from the early eighties.
The best poems are written not on papers / But by the swans on the shores / the winds on the highway
On the Friendship road / We travel writing a note / Dylan, me and Robin Hood,
Life delights and death mourns / But life goes on
There are too big for me / They always come in motion / To pinpoint is too hard for me
A grudging gush grew from the east / Grey grasses nomads endured the worst
Yet another day passes, Yet another day sleeps / Enter the world of dreams, bringing love in heaps.
Poem by Tenzin Gelek: A place, I know as heaven’s clone / Now just a deserted soul all alone.
Silence of emptiness pierced through the air, / And forlorn feathers fluttered in the captive sky.
Sands of time slipping from my grasp, / Pages of my life, melodies of my unsung past.
The dawn is here now / I foresee, a happy free Tibet / And our day will soon be here.