Weekend..

Earphones plugged in,

Listening to Josh Groban-River

A cool breeze lapping across my face

And a warm fuzzy kitten on my lap.

From the terrace top

I can see Amdo village clearly

Dogs barking loudly,

Disturbs my kitten’s sleep.

Hotels signboard brightly lit

Tourist screaming down below.

Cars honk,

and bullet bikes bursts.

Weekends are chaos here,

The main square is filled with

Softy and patties tourist.

Autos and taxis ready in service,

The pandemic has hit them hard enough

Now they will hit the tourist—redemption time.

I love Mcloed.

but on weekends,

I like to take a break.

It’s a complicated relationship that we share.

My usual Jimmy’s Italian is full,

But I found my alternate.

129 cafe.

Good owner with great vision.

Armed with my laptop,

Fast wifi, a coffee and some cigarettes.

The battle with Chaos of weekend starts.

It’s cold up on the terrace,

The kitten is fast asleep now.

Let him be.

He has no vendetta against the weekend.

A cup of milk and occasionally chicken meat

Is more than enough for him.

Maybe I should be more like him,

He stays in the present.

A full belly and a goodnight sleep.

His needs are small

His heart is huge.

Sleepless night eh?

Sleep arrives late nowadays (nowanights?), it might be the coffee I had. Three cups of latte. That ain’t much but as a regular Chai guy, it kinda does kick the sleep away. Add the coke and Mountain Dew, the caffeine has already Crossed the limit. Way over. Now I lay in bed, earphone plugged in, trying to watch a movie.my friends loud snore somehow sneaks into my ears. I turn up the volume but there is no escape from the sly snore. Well, I might as well listen to some rock and roll, if only my friend would stop rolling on the bed. I share a double bed with my friend, he sleeps early and I sleep late. I would get to see tens of new yoga posture, perks of staying late huh? Anyway, I will go to sleep now, let the snoring be my lullaby.

The cruel jest.

Fate plays it cruel jest yet again.

The words I wrote meant something

No more so now.

It lays in cobwebs and dust.

Buried under those emotions,

That she couldn’t feel.

Why stand if u gonna fall again?

Why fight if u know u will lose?

Why do it at all?

It bears nothing.

A naked heart always get outcasted.

A mirror is destined to break.

The soul always departs.

Yet not this one.

Holes in a Holy land.

A rosary in hand, massaging the beads,

Inside, A grandma prays in silence.

The hooves of Chinese army scurrying outside,

They bark! Deafening the peaceful solitude.

Peace dethroned, terror reigns.

Her faint heart trembles.

 

The fault wasn’t mine, nor my forefathers.

They dwelled in peace.

Pity! His kindred share not the same fate.

 

The high eagle told me.

It’s green no more on the other side.

The land is pregnant no more.

The water has lost his sweetness.

And the air it’s freshness.

He said,

Peace was butchered.

Just like those innocent animals,

And we Tibetans were humans no more.

 

The mountains that for long

Stood proud and stern, outliving my forefathers.

Now lies torn and has fallen.

The beautiful hills, now stands barren.

Robbed of its past glorious days.

When beast would run freely,

Yaks would graze its blades in glee,

And the nomads roaming without bond.

Then the joy knew no bounds.

The heart aches on the thought.

 

The loyal yak whispered to me in hush,

His new master treats him ill,

He yearns to walk freely,

To drink the sweet cold water.

To carry his young master upon his back,

And tread the wilderness,

The open fields and the rich pastures.

He longs to serves his true master again.

Now thousands of them, clustered inside stone walls.

See no more the open bright sun,

Nor breathe the sweet air.

They are only meat, waiting to get slaughtered.

He and thousands awaits their master’s return.

 

The white crane will return,

I believe and so does my brethren.

 

The swift deer spoke of her home,

Seeing it blazed to ash, now homeless.

Trees razed and building raised.

Her home and her life ruined.

I long to trot among the lingering leaves,

To run freely in day, and

A place to call home at night.

Her eyes filled to brim, she laments.

 

The old man, grey from age.

Tales of days, black in history page.

Its gets darker still, he said.

Tress uprooted and bared.

Rivers drained and lake emptied.

Beasts slaughtered and sold.

Hills bombed and drilled.

Holes in holy land,

Trash abundant, land abandoned.

The Memories of my past Are

The only Heirloom I own .

None else to pass on to my kin.

Tell them I said sorry will ya?