Tag: poem

A Homely Call

During our short stay in Ladakh.

A Homely Call 

Amidst whispers of the willow tree 

Here I sleep so sound and free,

Listening to the wrathful rushes, Indus’ gentle song  

The lullaby from the far distance, where I belong 

Beneath the blue sky and the twinkling stars,

Here I sleep so deep and free as if it’s all ours,

Imagining the wonders of a faraway homeland,

I can’t stop missing home, where my return was banned,

By Sonsnow

ལ་དྭགས་ལ་མོའི་རྒྱབ་ལ།

ལ་དྭགས་ལ་མོའི་རྒྱབ་ཀྱི།།

ཕ་ཡུལ་ཕྱོགས་ནས་བཞུར་བའི།།

གཙང་ཆུའི་བཞུར་སྒྲ་སྙན་མོ།།

མཚན་གང་ཉན་རྒྱུ་བྱུང་ན།།

ཚེ་གྲོགས་གཏན་གྱི་འདུན་མའི།།

སྙིང་གཏམ་མེད་ཀྱང་ཆོག་ག།

ལ་དྭགས་ལ་མོའི་སྒང་གི།

བྱ་རྒོད་གཤོག་རྩལ་རྒྱས་པ།།

ཕ་ཡུལ་དྭགས་པའི་ཞིང་ནས།།

ཕེབས་པ་ཨེ་ཡིན་གསུང་དང་།།

ཕ་ཡུལ་ཕ་མ་སྤུན་མཆེད།།

ལུས་ཁམས་བདེ་མིན་གསུང་དང་།།

ལ་དྭགས་ཡུལ་གྱི་ལ་མོ།

ཕར་བརྒལ་ཚུར་བརྒལ་བྱེད་སྐབས།།

གྲང་རླུང་སིལ་མའི་བསུ་མ།།

ལན་གཅིག་ལན་གཉིས་གནང་བས།།

ཕ་ཡུལ་དྭགས་པའི་ཞིང་དེ།།

ཡིད་ལ་འཁོར་འཁོར་བྱས་བྱུང་།།

ལ་དྭགས་ལ་མོའི་རྒྱབ་ཀྱི།།

རི་གྲོང་ཐར་ཐོར་ཁྲོད་དུ།།

ལྕང་སྡོང་སེར་མིན་ལྗང་མིན།།

མཛེས་པའི་རྒྱན་ལྟར་སྐྱེས་པ།།

དེ་དག་མཐོང་ཐེངས་རེ་རེར།།

ཕ་ཡུལ་ཡིད་ལ་འཁོར་བྱུང་། །

ལ་དྭགས་ལ་མོའི་སྒང་གི།

ཕ་ཡུལ་ཕྱོགས་ནས་ཕེབས་པའི།།

མཁའ་རླུང་དྭངས་གཙང་སིལ་མ།།

ཡུལ་ལ་ལོག་རྒྱུ་བྱུང་ན།།

གཤོག་རྩལ་རྒྱས་པའི་བུ་ཆུང་།།

ལ་རྩེར་སླེབས་འདུག་གསུང་རོགས།།

ཕ་བཟང་བུ་ནས།

ལྷག་དཀར་བསུ།

ཕ་ཡུལ་གངས་དཀར་ལྷུན་པོའི།

གཟི་འོད་ཉམས་འདུག་མ་གསུང་།

གོང་འཁྲིགས་ཁ་ནག་སྤྲིན་ནག

ཁ་འཐོར་དགུ་འཐོར་བྱུང་དུས།

གཟི་འོད་ངང་གིས་འཕྲོ་ཡོང་།  

ཆོལ་གསུམ་ཕུ་ནུར་སྡང་བའི།

དགྲ་བོ་ཤན་པ་ལག་དམར།

མནའ་ཤག་གྲོགས་ཡིན་མ་གསུང་།

ཁ་དན་ཚིག་གནས་མེད་པར།

རང་ཁྱིམ་བཅོམས་པ་མ་བརྗེད།

ཕ་བཟང་བུ་ནས།  

Tell me not 

That the heavenly high peaks have lost their light,

It gleams beyond clouds, pure and bright.

As black shrouds part and the sky unfurls,

Peak’s radiance grows, unfettered and pearls. 

To my siblings in all three traditional land and place,

It is an oppressive foe, a ruthless face.

Speak not of bonds that friendship ties,

Remember deceit veiled in friendship’s guise.

With words so sweet and deeds that lacked core,

Our land was seized, its fate hard to swallow.

By Sonsnow

” A Call”

I came up with a visual poem “A Call” I wrote back in 2017
A Call
On that Sunday morning,
When the world laughs with their leisure activities
You too have received that call
From afar Distant Home,
On that morning
Just before breakfast was served
Your phone beeps
And you have received that call
From an unknown number
You have heard a Familiar voice
Quite and Quavering
You got a News
The news that nails our heart
And that call
All of a sudden, ripped us apart all at once,
Dark and Gloomy
The world began to fall and fade away
We were left dumb and numb
And you have received that call
That we Exilic brothers were born to bear
That call
which we don’t want to receive
And You have picked it,
And You bowed down to a table
Black and blind, numb and dumb
You left dead in despair
You have received that call
That,,, that,,,,, call
Which I don’t want to receive
That,,, that,,,, call
You have picked and heard 
“Your Mother Passed Away”
By: Sonsnow

When was the last time?

Tell me
When was the last time 
You called your Mom,
Ask me not 
The story will be sad and Long. 

Tell me 
When was the last time 
You slept in the house you own, 
Ask me not 
I have the same sad story. 

Tell me 
When was the last time 
You had a meal with your family, 
Ask me not 
The story will be long and bitter.  

Tell me 
When was the last time 
You saw your Parents, 
Ask me not 
The story will be sad and Tearful.

Tell me 
When was the last time 
You correctly count your siblings by their names, 
Ask me not 
I lost their count so shamefully.

Tell me 
When was the last time 
You hugged your grandma, 
Ask me not 
She was murdered long before my birth. 

Tell me 
When was the last time
You prayed for our martyrs, 
Ask me not 
It pains me every day.

Tell me 
When was the last time 
You thought about an independent homeland, 
Ask me not 
It keeps me awake all the time. 

Tell me
When was the last time?
You thought about riding horses and crossing hills of the Himalayas, 
Ask me not 
I dream about the same so often.

By Sonsnow

Death is so Cruel

Death is so cruel 

Death is so cruel

So often to everyone, 

Young, old and adults 

All it takes away unnoticed. 

Death is so cruel 

So often to everyone,

Rich, poor and destitute 

All it takes away ignorantly. 

Death is so cruel 

So often to everyone,

Leaders, intellectuals and idiots, 

All it takes away indiscriminately. 

Death is so cruel 

So often to everyone,

You, me and others 

All it takes away someday. 

By Sonsnow 

  • Deeply saddened by the untimely death of prominent Tibetan Poet Chen Metak. May he rest peace in the hearts and minds of his readers, and may his works continues to lead the poetry path.
Three Poems by Chen Metak

This Winter

This Winter

This winter, when we are all free to set our footsteps on the new streets and roam around the old city.

This winter, before the Chinese virus, captured our towns and cities and locked us apart in a social distance.

This winter, when we are all enjoying our daily routines in our own space with no excuses and complaints.

This winter, when we are all free to travel from here to there with no barriers to borders and boundaries.

This winter, before we are all locked up in our rat-sized rooms and peep through the curtains for lively activities.

By – Sonsnow

  • Wrote this two years back after the first wave of Covid-19.

I Don’t Want Tibet to Die

French football fans form a Giant Tibetan Flag To Annoy Chinese Viewers

I Don’t Want Tibet to Die

I don’t want Tibet to die,

I don’t want Tibet to disappear,

I don’t want Tibet to be destroyed-

No; I don’t want Tibet to die.

I don’t want Tibet to be filled with Chinese,

I don’t want my children to be called Chinese,

I don’t want my children to become Chinese-

No; I don’t want Tibet to die.

While our self-serving leaders indulge in confusion,

And my fellow Tibetans in exile remain timid and ignorant,

I know a few of us alone cannot make Tibet free-

And yet I don’t want Tibet to die.

Because it is not fair and it is not just,

Because Tibetans have the same right to freedom,

Because I want Truth to triumph over evil-

No; I don’t want my dear Tibet to die.

By-Lhasang Tsering

  • Lhasang Tsering is a writer and a poet, an outspoken advocate of Tibetan Independence.

Country, Nation, Freedom

How wonderful it must be,
To have one’s own Country,
A Country that one belongs to,
A Country that belongs to you.

How wonderful it must be,
No longer to be Stateless,
To belong to nap Nation,
A Nation that belongs to you.

How wonderful it must be,
To regain lost Freedom,
To hold one’s head high,
In liberty and in Freedom!

How wonderful it truly is,
Even to dream of a Country,
A Country that belongs to you,
A Country that will belong to you.

Tibet-the only Country I wish to belong to.
Tibet-the only Country that belongs to me.
A reality that is wonderful to dream about.
A dream that will be a wonderful reality.

By- Lhasang Tsering

* Lhasang Tsering is a Tibetan poet, writer, and activist. He was President of the Tibetan Youth Congress and a founding director of Amnye Machen Institute in Dharamshala, India. He is a vociferous and ardent advocate of Tibet’s independence and a passionate lover of literature