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
Tag: poem
If I die here on a foreign soil
Attempt my hand in shooting, editing, and recitation for the first time. You are most welcome for guidance in smoothing the skill and deepening the Knowledge.
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.
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
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
Longings
All that I long for- Is to return to my home, Is this too much to ask for? Is this too much to long for? All that I ask for- Is to return to my Homeland, Is this too much to ask for? Is this too much to long for? All that I have always wanted- Is freedom for my country, Is this too much to ask for? Is this too much to long for? I know I have a house- But this is not my home, I know I have a place to stay- But this is not where I belong. Though I enjoy many freedoms- I know I am not free, Though I live in freedom- Still I long to be Free! By Lhasang Tsering
Waiting
Waiting to know if she’ll see her son again,
Waiting to know if her man will ever return,
Waiting to know if she will go back home,
Waiting is what a refugee woman must do.
Waiting to know if it is now her turn,
Waiting to know when her daughter must go,
Waiting to know what the final price will be,
Waiting is what a refugee woman must do.
Waiting to know what more she must do,
Waiting to know if the world will help,
Waiting to know if her country will ever be free,
Waiting is what a refugee woman must do.
Waiting is, therefore, what she will do,
Waiting despite the pain and loneliness,
waiting till the end of her dreary days-
For waiting is what a refugee woman must do.
By Lhasang Tsering
The Gifts of Freedom
The Gifts of Freedom
It is in Freedom- And only in Freedom, That a singer may sing- May sing in Joy. It is in Freedom- And only in Freedom, That a dancer may dance- May dance in Ecstasy. It is in Freedom- And only in Freedom, That an athlete may Excel- May excel with Pride. It is in Freedom- And only in Freedom, That an artist may Flower- May flower to Fruition. It is in Freedom- And only in Freedom, That each may find their self- And each their sense of Dignity. By-Lhasang Tsering
- Lhasang Tsering is a writer and a poet, an outspoken advocate of Tibetan Independence.