I await to bury my head in your chest,
get as deep as I can in your vest,
the best.
I await you to look into your eyes again,
to see the joy of pain,
to see the light when our gaze meets,
yet again my dear- yet again.
I await to sit in silence,
wrapped in your arms,
hearing nothing but just your breath.
I await for wordless expressions,
motionless dances,
weightless happiness.
~I love You.~
Reading is the muse of writing, amusing
I have tons of readings to read, I know that's a lot, whole lot, hell lot and it is in such times when you are to concentrate with your mind entirely, the muse awakens. The muse loves musings, it is clever, it knows that when it is not wanted it shall tempt and coax and finally get the fingers to move, smoothly, move them in words, frame sentences and there you go, a para-graph is ready.
It is joyfully clever, even when it has nothing to tell, it will yet not stop speaking, it just continues, murmuring and buzzing, soft sounds and loud noises, whatever it pleases and if you do not obey, then you had it! It will then exclaim and claim your voice and make it sound its own, it will take over, completely and you will have no say, no say at all, it is the muse and the muse loves being mused not abused.
But, but if you love it and if you hearken to it, it is the bestest confidante, choosing your words for you, your voice, your rhythm, rhyming where possible, connecting and dis jointing when not necessary, expressing the feeling, helping you lament and rejoice and giggle and chuckle and talk of love and life and help you get higher up the mind, oh muse, elevate me, levitate me, I await to join your abode in splendor, await to obey you ,my lover, my muse, I await to be told of the world and the worlds that have passed by, I await to listen to your voiceless voice, quiver listening to it, soaking every technique you tell, mopping it to my bank of memory, storing it gently, tucking away the moments spent with you my muse, descend now will you or just take me away, I await to be in your arms, your loving arms.
As you hold me I shall burst into a sensual prosody, uttering my endless songs and hopes and dreams to meet you, oh formless, being- less, benign muse, I put a pen next to me, a white sheet of paper, cross legged, my head looking into the sky, I await for you, come to me......
or did you just leave me?
It is joyfully clever, even when it has nothing to tell, it will yet not stop speaking, it just continues, murmuring and buzzing, soft sounds and loud noises, whatever it pleases and if you do not obey, then you had it! It will then exclaim and claim your voice and make it sound its own, it will take over, completely and you will have no say, no say at all, it is the muse and the muse loves being mused not abused.
But, but if you love it and if you hearken to it, it is the bestest confidante, choosing your words for you, your voice, your rhythm, rhyming where possible, connecting and dis jointing when not necessary, expressing the feeling, helping you lament and rejoice and giggle and chuckle and talk of love and life and help you get higher up the mind, oh muse, elevate me, levitate me, I await to join your abode in splendor, await to obey you ,my lover, my muse, I await to be told of the world and the worlds that have passed by, I await to listen to your voiceless voice, quiver listening to it, soaking every technique you tell, mopping it to my bank of memory, storing it gently, tucking away the moments spent with you my muse, descend now will you or just take me away, I await to be in your arms, your loving arms.
As you hold me I shall burst into a sensual prosody, uttering my endless songs and hopes and dreams to meet you, oh formless, being- less, benign muse, I put a pen next to me, a white sheet of paper, cross legged, my head looking into the sky, I await for you, come to me......
or did you just leave me?
Here and Now
When my hair blows in the cold wind,
when my lips becomes dry,
I close my eyes to be blind.
When am blind my sight is the strongest,
I see the dungeons of memory,
I see you in every blind blink,
I hear our joyous mugs of beer,
and I swear,
I hear the clink.
I see your face,
this phase is full of your face,
you say live in- here and now,
you are here with me,
you but a voiceless you,
you but a formless you,
you who just smiles at everything and scorns nothing,
you are here with me darling,
I feel your presence.
Leave me never,
love me forever.
when my lips becomes dry,
I close my eyes to be blind.
When am blind my sight is the strongest,
I see the dungeons of memory,
I see you in every blind blink,
I hear our joyous mugs of beer,
and I swear,
I hear the clink.
I see your face,
this phase is full of your face,
you say live in- here and now,
you are here with me,
you but a voiceless you,
you but a formless you,
you who just smiles at everything and scorns nothing,
you are here with me darling,
I feel your presence.
Leave me never,
love me forever.
41st Iffley Road
Stap your seat belts for your safety said the man, no I was not in a plane, I had just gotten out of one, I was in a bus. He further instructed if your want to use the lavoratory, it is to your rear and enjoy your ride. It was past midnight, I was in the bus from Heathrow to Oxford. Before getting into the bus I had just seen England below my feet, lights shimmering on wherever you could set your eyes on the land below, the half moon with a sheepish look, glowing to glory. Picking up my bags I walked to the immigration, and boy there were people, walking smartly, in quiet a hurry, trying to get out of the port and back to their hurried lives, and I seemed to be the only one around with nothing much but a lot of time. So I dragged my bags slowly, gaping at everything that passed my way or whose ways I passed; asking people for the information centre, the calling card shop and the ultimate question, which bus can I take to get to Oxford?
There they were everyone who knew where to go and what to do, and there I was a lost child, enjoying the feeling of not knowing.When I got to the bus stand it said Oxford and I was relieved, I was at the right place, the huge tube pulled up infront and the driver got down to put the baggage in the luggage compartment, sorting them out according to their destination; my turn in the queue and he asked, “where to,” I said “Oxford,” with a puzzled look he said, “ But Oxfords big, where in Oxford,” I managed to remember my college room address and muttered with uncertainty “ 41st Iffley Road,” he shook his head and said that’s a long road, and in my mind I thought, and how was I to know that, it was my first time. The queue behind me was building, so I hurriedly said, drop me off, anywhere close to that, and he said the last stop, and even before he could utter the name, I said “yes yes.” It was one of those embarrassing times where you don’t want yourself to look like a fool and end up saying “ yeah, yeah,” to everything.
So there I was, jet lagged, destination unknown and strapped in a bus! The straps are quite a help really, especially when you are deprived of sleep and want something to hang your head on, what better than a strap to keep you wanted. I slept in bits and pieces, craning my neck to whatever passed on the way, half awake dreaming and then the pilot spoke on his microphone again, a thick British accent,’ we are here, watch out for your stops,’ and this was a dreaded moment. I rubbed my eyes shook myself from the quick slumber, and now time for vigilance, time to look out where to get out, but “where” is a big question?
“Gloucester Green, the last stop,” said the man, so I picked up my bags again and prayed some one should help, like god ( if you exist?), its late at night, how do I know where to go, how? The Bhutanese way, pray, and prayers do get answered; as I was taking out my luggage, an amount too humungous for my size, an English man said, “you wanted to go to Iffley road, and I was glad, there was my angel,” I said yes, he said well you cannot walk till there, you have to take a taxi, come I will show you from where, I followed more than willingly, he pulled my bags for me too, godsend. Taxi and there was I, infront of my house, I had a room in there, but no keys. Second task, to get in you need the key, and to get to the key you need to know where you can get it, but middle of the night colleges are closed, so now what?
Pray, say your prayers, wish. I was already missing the mountains, the food, my room back home but for now all I cared for was a bed, safe one. So I hit the bar below my house, it was a Friday and all bars are packed on Friday, that’s a universal rule. I saw a man with pink hair (coloured) and two ponies serving drinks, and there I go again with my questions, “ would you know anyone who lives upstairs, I rang the bell but no ones answering,” and pink man says “ it’s a Friday, you will not find anyone,” I knew what day it was but I needed better information than that, “ I need my room keys,” I was asking a bartender and he could be god for me at the moment, “try the college lodge, ” “ don’t know where it is and will it not be closed its quite late” said I, “ its open 24 hrs,” said pink man, bingo! and that was what I wanted to hear, 24 hrs. With the help of another landscape gardener who was drinking, I made it to the lodge which was not far away, picked up my keys, flashing my passport everywhere and when I held those in my hand, it was victory, I felt like I had gotten the biggest treasure of my life.
So there I lay, in my bed thinking, what a few days I have had, hopping from the nestled kingdom to this bed. I missed home, quite terribly but I was representing home, the only 'Bhutan' in this hub of nationalities, and that made me feel better, more like that was only way of consoling myself.
There they were everyone who knew where to go and what to do, and there I was a lost child, enjoying the feeling of not knowing.When I got to the bus stand it said Oxford and I was relieved, I was at the right place, the huge tube pulled up infront and the driver got down to put the baggage in the luggage compartment, sorting them out according to their destination; my turn in the queue and he asked, “where to,” I said “Oxford,” with a puzzled look he said, “ But Oxfords big, where in Oxford,” I managed to remember my college room address and muttered with uncertainty “ 41st Iffley Road,” he shook his head and said that’s a long road, and in my mind I thought, and how was I to know that, it was my first time. The queue behind me was building, so I hurriedly said, drop me off, anywhere close to that, and he said the last stop, and even before he could utter the name, I said “yes yes.” It was one of those embarrassing times where you don’t want yourself to look like a fool and end up saying “ yeah, yeah,” to everything.
So there I was, jet lagged, destination unknown and strapped in a bus! The straps are quite a help really, especially when you are deprived of sleep and want something to hang your head on, what better than a strap to keep you wanted. I slept in bits and pieces, craning my neck to whatever passed on the way, half awake dreaming and then the pilot spoke on his microphone again, a thick British accent,’ we are here, watch out for your stops,’ and this was a dreaded moment. I rubbed my eyes shook myself from the quick slumber, and now time for vigilance, time to look out where to get out, but “where” is a big question?
“Gloucester Green, the last stop,” said the man, so I picked up my bags again and prayed some one should help, like god ( if you exist?), its late at night, how do I know where to go, how? The Bhutanese way, pray, and prayers do get answered; as I was taking out my luggage, an amount too humungous for my size, an English man said, “you wanted to go to Iffley road, and I was glad, there was my angel,” I said yes, he said well you cannot walk till there, you have to take a taxi, come I will show you from where, I followed more than willingly, he pulled my bags for me too, godsend. Taxi and there was I, infront of my house, I had a room in there, but no keys. Second task, to get in you need the key, and to get to the key you need to know where you can get it, but middle of the night colleges are closed, so now what?
Pray, say your prayers, wish. I was already missing the mountains, the food, my room back home but for now all I cared for was a bed, safe one. So I hit the bar below my house, it was a Friday and all bars are packed on Friday, that’s a universal rule. I saw a man with pink hair (coloured) and two ponies serving drinks, and there I go again with my questions, “ would you know anyone who lives upstairs, I rang the bell but no ones answering,” and pink man says “ it’s a Friday, you will not find anyone,” I knew what day it was but I needed better information than that, “ I need my room keys,” I was asking a bartender and he could be god for me at the moment, “try the college lodge, ” “ don’t know where it is and will it not be closed its quite late” said I, “ its open 24 hrs,” said pink man, bingo! and that was what I wanted to hear, 24 hrs. With the help of another landscape gardener who was drinking, I made it to the lodge which was not far away, picked up my keys, flashing my passport everywhere and when I held those in my hand, it was victory, I felt like I had gotten the biggest treasure of my life.
So there I lay, in my bed thinking, what a few days I have had, hopping from the nestled kingdom to this bed. I missed home, quite terribly but I was representing home, the only 'Bhutan' in this hub of nationalities, and that made me feel better, more like that was only way of consoling myself.
Mrs moon
Mountains I conjure,
streams I concoct,
fresh air I breathe.
I am the blue sky,
Clouds dance in my shadows,
rainbows play hide and seek,
winter I smell,
smell of winter,
wintery winter.
Snow says it is on the way,
but it's flight is delayed due to climate change,
sun says I have extra work,
global warming makes me shine longer,
Do I not need rest?
Do I?
I am just plasma.
Glaciers are irritated,
"I am no longer solid," it proclaims,
is it just the age?
Sigh! old age! Human induced old age!
Moon looks like the sun,
bright glowing dark sun,
it is just the pollution,
Oh Mr Moon,
you now glow like a Mrs.
*chuckle*
I lament my earth,
I foresee disaster,
is extinction just the beginning of regeneration?
streams I concoct,
fresh air I breathe.
I am the blue sky,
Clouds dance in my shadows,
rainbows play hide and seek,
winter I smell,
smell of winter,
wintery winter.
Snow says it is on the way,
but it's flight is delayed due to climate change,
sun says I have extra work,
global warming makes me shine longer,
Do I not need rest?
Do I?
I am just plasma.
Glaciers are irritated,
"I am no longer solid," it proclaims,
is it just the age?
Sigh! old age! Human induced old age!
Moon looks like the sun,
bright glowing dark sun,
it is just the pollution,
Oh Mr Moon,
you now glow like a Mrs.
*chuckle*
I lament my earth,
I foresee disaster,
is extinction just the beginning of regeneration?
A usual day
Beep Beep goes on my noisy alarm, and at such a point I just want to chuck it the farthest possible and go back to my dreamy slumber, which I do, and press the snooze; twelve minutes later it beeps again, I utter a disgruntled noise and press the snooze again. After some five snoozes, my watch reads some 7.45 AM and to attend 9 o'clock classes I should be up, infact up long back, then I curse myself for snoozing the time, curse the morning for being so cold and curse my bed for being so inviting.
Get up on a morning and that too late, then you start running like a mad person. Brush your teeth quickly, no time to glance on your oil soaked sweat laden face, shower even quicker, get out before the water settles in your body, mop roughly and there you are running around your room, and especially if you are messy like me, then you are running in your not so big room but everything strewn everywhere; books, pen, notes, phone, ipod, glasses, make up, and there goes the missing liner again, so search for it, beneath the bed, in the shelves only to find it sticking out with a wicked grin from your bag, ah! mornings. Dab some powder on your face, look a little presentable, look for your stole to cover the neck, and pack lunch, thank god I did it the night before itself, now that was being clever or just plain lazy!
Then I gather my coat, wear my stockings and my jeans and pocket my purse and go through the bag again, I live quite far from the department and coming back to pick up forgotten items would be a night mare, re-check, scan, done, ahh then the keys? the keys, bike and room keys...oh well in that am really intelligent, I never take the keys out of the key hole; once not very long back I got locked out of my own room, twice in a day, so that is never going to happen again, so I prove to the door that I finally have brians.
Slam, goes my door, click it sounds, and am out for the day.
Run downstairs, gobble some cereals, drink the milk making a throaty noise, gulp gulp, swipe the remains of the milk and then juggle to find the keys to open the door and close it back, be sure not to disturb your house mates since you would not want to be disturbed too. Then find the bike keys, unlock them, walk the bike across the road, cycle, and before five minutes of cycling, am cursing my breath again, ciggarettes, they are bad, bad, puff pant, they are bad, red light says the traffic, thanks for giving me the break. So it takes twenty two minutes to cycle to my department and I go find a seat, lower my back pack and today they tell me, the clock went an hour back, well the time settings!
Get up on a morning and that too late, then you start running like a mad person. Brush your teeth quickly, no time to glance on your oil soaked sweat laden face, shower even quicker, get out before the water settles in your body, mop roughly and there you are running around your room, and especially if you are messy like me, then you are running in your not so big room but everything strewn everywhere; books, pen, notes, phone, ipod, glasses, make up, and there goes the missing liner again, so search for it, beneath the bed, in the shelves only to find it sticking out with a wicked grin from your bag, ah! mornings. Dab some powder on your face, look a little presentable, look for your stole to cover the neck, and pack lunch, thank god I did it the night before itself, now that was being clever or just plain lazy!
Then I gather my coat, wear my stockings and my jeans and pocket my purse and go through the bag again, I live quite far from the department and coming back to pick up forgotten items would be a night mare, re-check, scan, done, ahh then the keys? the keys, bike and room keys...oh well in that am really intelligent, I never take the keys out of the key hole; once not very long back I got locked out of my own room, twice in a day, so that is never going to happen again, so I prove to the door that I finally have brians.
Slam, goes my door, click it sounds, and am out for the day.
Run downstairs, gobble some cereals, drink the milk making a throaty noise, gulp gulp, swipe the remains of the milk and then juggle to find the keys to open the door and close it back, be sure not to disturb your house mates since you would not want to be disturbed too. Then find the bike keys, unlock them, walk the bike across the road, cycle, and before five minutes of cycling, am cursing my breath again, ciggarettes, they are bad, bad, puff pant, they are bad, red light says the traffic, thanks for giving me the break. So it takes twenty two minutes to cycle to my department and I go find a seat, lower my back pack and today they tell me, the clock went an hour back, well the time settings!
Oxford Town
"Congratulations," said some Ministers, some friends, some known people and some unknown
"Oh, nice" or just "hmm," said some, who perhaps did not know how to react or did not want to or simply didn't care, " I did not know you were an intellectual said a few," " lucky you ( was that all luck?)," said a bunch and all the hiss and siss and comments were for getting into Oxford. Frankly, to me it did not matter how people reacted or how not, I had to say it for I was looking for funds and all I got was words, 'congratulations' which became cliched within time. Here I was hoping to have inspired more Bhutanese to make the west know of our existence and to ourselves that we too are capable of anything that we want to do, but I often wonder if my doings have been mistaken, scorned at, I do hope someday people will understand.I am paving a path, or maybe just clearing one, I hope you will follow or your kids will....
Since I applied here, I do not deny I was not fascinated by the course I had applied for and of- course the ancient university. It was an ideal dream. Writing letters to the college, filling the numerous forms, juggling between university and college contracts, arranging money, crying, weeping and cursing myself for dreaming, it was all quite a process, and as I lie stretched in my bed, smoking a cigarette, I wonder if it was all worth it.
Then begins the saga of freshers and introductions with a template of questions asking " where from, which country, which department, which college, which road you live on and so on," and all I get when I say "Bhutan," is "where is that," "oh, cool! but am bad at geography," "you have the happiness index there, damn cool," and you meet some who would not care unless you are USA or Canada or Australia or some big sized place on the map, and to those wanting to know where it is I say "Himalayas," and if you don't know that and you got this far, you got to very clever indeed!
Oxford systems are bizzare at times. Everyone is affiliated to a department and also to a college. College for socials and parties and cocktails and other fancy jester like items and department for lectures and seminars and all academic bits. The terms are even more intense, an eight week marathon and before you know it it is over. But the eight weeks are full of readings and lectures and independent motivated studies plus beer, pub crawl, ale and cider. You have a huge platform to go and attend the extra subjects that you like and whatever fits into your schedule. I volunteered for the newspaper and went to cover Dwain Chambers, the British sprinter, and meeting him in person after having 'wikipediad' him was a moment. Seeing his metal tooth gleaming and hearing him talk openly at the Oxford Union (expensive union to join) on drugs and sports was quite interesting.
Cycling, I have a pink dunlop bike ;), they seem to not like the word cycle and hence its a bike. I fell down a couple of times at the traffic, got bruised and embarrassed, managed to get up, smile at the car next to me and cycled again, yes am learning...
It is nice to be here but I do believe it is quite hyped and coming from a close knit community like ours, it is a tremendous change. Changing rooms, finding houses, buying food, eating 'bread, missing ema datsi,' is all a part of life that I have chosen. It is shit expensive to live in the UK, shit shit, it is. From the bus that charges you two pounds to cover few hundred metres to the food in the supermarket to the medicines in the dug store to a pint of beer in the bar, it is all money. Capitalistic views surround sound, and for the moment the favourite word is credit crunch, know it or not know what it means, it is the word to use.
Amidst all these you do meet interesting people too, name the country and you might bump into a citizen. I met someone from Barbados and am living with a house mate from Malta, Mexico and have classmates from Greece and Croatia and Venezuela and other places on earth. Met poets who recite poems while drinking beer and tell me of Blake and Ginsberg, scientists who work on some fancy atoms but nevertheless drink a lot, archeologists, anthropologists, photographers and the list goes on; you meet humans who have been brought up in different cultures and want to meet people from around the world, travel, learn and share. Academia, Oxford is truly one in that sense; there is room for everything and everyone, though this bit is debatable.
I am not trying to sound lucky or plain snobbish, I just want people to know that if they try, even this is accessible, but unfortunately there are no scholarships for Bhutanese and I did try speaking to the authorities but it seems they need funding from the government to give students of that government a chance. Politics, everywhere, it reeks in every corner of the world.
Autumn leaves rustling on the streets, falling overhead, green to yellow and to none, is a gorgeous sight. Panting and puffing, I ride my cycle, it is the cigarette that I should not be smoking, it makes my breath shorter, and I gaze into the pale blue twilight, the architectural marvels of the historic town, a student town, multicultural town, it reverberates of ideas and colours and drunkards and drinkers ...
Good old town Oxford, many a people have come and gone, written and done, been and seen and I will be in the many soon but I shall indulge in you Oxford,till I last in you.Hope someday we have more Bhutanese coming here. Hope to share my experiences when ride back and gently climb the mountains where I belong.
To sum it all up, happiness is desirous to all human beings and you do not need university education for that, no you don't. Just be happy at home, there is nothing like it but if you are adventurous and would like to experience unhappiness, escape from innocence and know the world, then well, try you may and you should.
Nature Pees
Dark Grey shadows of the sky,
the clouds seem to silently move,
becoming darker and darker,
till hell will break loose,
and when it does- they will pour,
with a vigour so vigorous,
it will prove its Englishness.
Chilly and cold wind,
leaves rustling and rubbing against the stony floor,
making 'that' sound,
maybe autumn beckons..
Here I am, south of England,
eating sausages and baked beans,
admiring the country side,
sitting on a wooden bench,
Oh meadows so beautiful,
oh gorgeous doe- eyes,
but today you are overshadowed,
with the dark grey clouds,
it's like it brings forth a message,
the message of rain- heavy rain..
Did the English weather drink a lot of beer?
Nature pees....
Mystic Me
A poetess in love with words,
A traveler in love with the road,
A clam shell- A woman deep inside.
Nature, my paradise,
The Himalayas, my abode,
The mountains my friends, the wind my breath, the rivers my joy,
Trees I love them,
I am a fire tigress, an Arian,
Art my food,
Camera my eyes,
Speech my reach,
And friends my need,
Knowledge my thirst,
Poetry my song,
Oxford my dream and
You- my destiny.
A traveler in love with the road,
A clam shell- A woman deep inside.
Nature, my paradise,
The Himalayas, my abode,
The mountains my friends, the wind my breath, the rivers my joy,
Trees I love them,
I am a fire tigress, an Arian,
Art my food,
Camera my eyes,
Speech my reach,
And friends my need,
Knowledge my thirst,
Poetry my song,
Oxford my dream and
You- my destiny.
Tic tac toe
The clock ticks ever second
Tic tac toe,
A minute has passed,
Tic tac toe,
An hour has passed,
Tic tac toe
The day will pass
Tic tac toe
I am one day closer to death.
Tic tac toe,
Who invented you?
Tic tac toe,
Why do you matter so much?
Tic tac toe,
They tell me you are precious
Tic tac toe,
You remind me of work,
things to accomplish before I hit the grave,
Tic tac toe,
Can I shut you forever?
Or will you shut me?
Tic tac toe,
You never leave me, you annoy me,
Tic tac toe,
You are the fleeting moment
Tic tac toe you shall always continue,
Time you are timeless,
Tic tac toe-
I give up!
I want to Run or just melt away
I want to run or just melt away,
I try,
I ain't growing shorter by the day.
I want to disappear,
but I keep on re-appearing.
I want to float with the clouds,
kiss the skies,
but I can't fly.
I want to understand the whys and the hows and the whos,
and all I hear is a silent SOOOshhhhhh.
Eyes are open and yet closed,
Ears listen and don't hear,
I breath but with no air,
I freeze and cold I have not become,
I can't comprehend the cosmic happenings,
so I will try vanishing like a ring of smoke among low hanging clouds,
fast and quick.
I try,
I ain't growing shorter by the day.
I want to disappear,
but I keep on re-appearing.
I want to float with the clouds,
kiss the skies,
but I can't fly.
I want to understand the whys and the hows and the whos,
and all I hear is a silent SOOOshhhhhh.
Eyes are open and yet closed,
Ears listen and don't hear,
I breath but with no air,
I freeze and cold I have not become,
I can't comprehend the cosmic happenings,
so I will try vanishing like a ring of smoke among low hanging clouds,
fast and quick.
To the Rain
You poured today,
and in so long I haven't seen Thimphu so drenched.
The smell of summer pervading in the sky,
seeping through the rocks,
billowing from the clouds,
ah! the fresh smell of summer,
or is it giving way to autumn?
Mornings are colder,
sleep you get is longer,
slumber and slumber.
I watched the sky,
to figure out how you fall and from where,
clouds of shades I could find,
out of blue skies you were pouring at places,
some out of dark,
Some shiny clouds smiling,
and after the Rain,
a friend once said,
Thimphu looks happier,
I think it does,
people look brighter,
dogs bark louder,
things look better,
Ah, rain come again tomorrow!
and in so long I haven't seen Thimphu so drenched.
The smell of summer pervading in the sky,
seeping through the rocks,
billowing from the clouds,
ah! the fresh smell of summer,
or is it giving way to autumn?
Mornings are colder,
sleep you get is longer,
slumber and slumber.
I watched the sky,
to figure out how you fall and from where,
clouds of shades I could find,
out of blue skies you were pouring at places,
some out of dark,
Some shiny clouds smiling,
and after the Rain,
a friend once said,
Thimphu looks happier,
I think it does,
people look brighter,
dogs bark louder,
things look better,
Ah, rain come again tomorrow!
To Oxford that I shall never see
I dreamt,
and it was madness.
The dream started young,
a dream so beautiful,
full of literature and poetry,
of Thames I dreamt sitting by Wang chhu,
I couldn't share the dream,
for everyone thought it was madness,
and madness it was,
and this madness drove my thoughts,
thousands of miles,
it perhaps met Shakespeare's soul there, or Elliot's,
it is still a dream,
and the madness is wearing out,
of people I have begged,
and people do sound sympathetic but its my dream,
they wouldn't care,
and never have I wanted the evil money so much,
never, never before,
nor do I crave for more,
for I know all this is for the plants I grew up with,
they talk to me,
I can feel them and it hurts to see them deplete and burn,
logs and logs burn,
and my heart burns with it,
this is madness I know,
like that 10,300 km on the road was not enough,
the fourty days in the car,
madness is wearing out,
I am growing older,
But I still do not understand the world,
am sure none do, but all pretend to,
of death I wait,
I am not even scared
and hopefully
it will be a mad death.
Amen!
and it was madness.
The dream started young,
a dream so beautiful,
full of literature and poetry,
of Thames I dreamt sitting by Wang chhu,
I couldn't share the dream,
for everyone thought it was madness,
and madness it was,
and this madness drove my thoughts,
thousands of miles,
it perhaps met Shakespeare's soul there, or Elliot's,
it is still a dream,
and the madness is wearing out,
of people I have begged,
and people do sound sympathetic but its my dream,
they wouldn't care,
and never have I wanted the evil money so much,
never, never before,
nor do I crave for more,
for I know all this is for the plants I grew up with,
they talk to me,
I can feel them and it hurts to see them deplete and burn,
logs and logs burn,
and my heart burns with it,
this is madness I know,
like that 10,300 km on the road was not enough,
the fourty days in the car,
madness is wearing out,
I am growing older,
But I still do not understand the world,
am sure none do, but all pretend to,
of death I wait,
I am not even scared
and hopefully
it will be a mad death.
Amen!