Hide and seek                       

Every pace we made
Through the long thirsty alley
Gingerly we stepped from
The blazing lane
And try to hide desperately
Into the shade that is in dearth
We crave for his hiding behind
The thin scattered clouds
So that we can walk as a bigwig
Till he glide out to ablaze us
Inhumanly in an infernos
We just wait for bleak weary clouds
To shower us enormously 
With the heavenly shadow
So that we can end this hide and seek
With the inglorious sun of Chennai



Gift of brand new day…


Through the window of my dark still room
Light of stars and moon and sport light
Mingling together and streamed faintly in
To unstill the stillness of sullen dark


I wore pullover and slipped underneath the shawl
Just try to close my drowsy, weary eyes
To take me to the light of new day
That is awaited for me
Since the dying sun’s good bye
And before the young night’s hello


I am still waiting to lock my jaded eyes
To refresh myself fully with the chirping of early birds
I am all exhausted from long monotonous day
I need a good sound sleep
My head already sunk in the white covered pillow


When I blink once
Brilliant morning sun is heading toward my bright window
Damp fresh breeze sighing by
Chirping of birds, blooming of flowers, whistling of flutter leaves
Everyone is waiting for me to encounter
The gift of brand new day


LOST IDENTITY…


In my vain blood called Tibetan is swaying
Soaring around in search of identity
Not only for the scenery that my grandma told
Not only for the land that my ancestor lived
But in search of identity that was lost before I was born
My mother told me I m Tibetan
But no one on earth dare to asked me
Whether I m Tibetan or not
Rather than something else
That in turn let me to utter fateful saga of since from 1959 again n again
I was born n brought up in India
But blood is still Tibetan
He asked me candidly
“You all are fighting for land”
‘More than land”
  I uttered chokingly
Something that is paramount in this identical world


My aging mother...


She fought with stone and brick and dust
In the long sunny days and harsh winter cold
To earn daily wages that brought bread home


She woke up as an early bird
And served us with mouth watering breakfast
Before we off to school


I thought she will be strong and still and glowing
But her hair turned gray
Her face enveloped more wrinkles than I had seen last


Her back bent and curved in
She walked a step or two
Then resting on side pavement
And groaned “her knee is now out dated”


I asked her
“Is she still prostrating hundred and eight?”
Her shivered voice chocked
“She hardly can do three or four or six”


She is my aging mother
I thought she will be strong and still and tall
But the bead of days passes through the rosary of life
Betaking everyone to the end


But I will beg to the lord of life
To spare her once to see her son thrived


By Tsewang Phuntsok
Graduate
Loyola college