I saw your death yesterday in your fingers. / It was death like people had in the old days.
If both the spoken and written language of a people die, then it is as if the entire population of that people has died and the people have been decimated.
I went on a lot of bus rides in Tibet. My first bus ride was along the Golok-Xiling route.
Snowflakes pull their punches landing / On my face much as cats do,
Amdo Sershul hoards his war stories, / deals them out sparingly to passers-by / in their times of need.
This is how it will be. / We will take a walk on concrete, not blue tiles.
This year’s crop did not flower. / It was the lack of rain compounded by
Ladies and gentlemen, / these trace fossils belong to / our dearly departed Tyrannosaurus Rex.
For a complicit people, / forgiveness must come first, / then perhaps freedom.