Silent Tears

To its shore of years
Dear brother,
Hours may have borne the seasons;
Yet you are,
Within me still;
Your face cheerful and reminding me,
When they say-
‘We are remorseful to hear…’
Oh! What a pity!

I pray for you
Reflecting on the godly commission
I think, you would have accomplished,
Had you but walked this world.
Oh! How it sears in dulcet pain!

With those,
Truly like of friendship,
Some jocund moments I share,
And when I chance,
The melody of your taste, or
Sight your books, prints and raiment’s,
It comes again, the unceasing Malaise.

I tell none
How solitary I am in reminiscence
Of my youthful brother, whose
Demise had come ere time
And does it not sans compact
Bear us to oblivion?
Alas! Everything, but the poignant breath
Wherein lives subtle bygone memories.

My appreciation of ‘Apa’

For the sweat you shed on the terraces
To furnish us food;

For the dwindling strength
You spend in the woods
To keep us warm;

For our immoral peccadilloes
You reproved
To mould us into decent men;

For the worries that
Furrowed your brow
Wrought by our weaknesses and failings;

For the faithful prayers
We learnt to offer and,

For the unblemished footprints
You imprint
For us to follow,
We, thank the good Guru for you.

Grandma’s Last Smile

Seventy eight is not old for my grandma
In her childish hopes and early prayers
Senile sinews burdens spirited tomorrow,
Even as she sleeps in breathless quietness
Ushering death in painless peace awash in glee
Long before dawn she ebbs to the nether shore;
Her frail palms in comforting embrace over
Her bosom that never shall rhyme,
The lively moments of youthful dance!
O’ how rarely death comes in peace!
How rarely sufferance gifts beautiful smile?
How is my final decree chartered seconds away
On the inevitable course I long to measure;
That one breath must leave stealthily in calm;
Sans the sting and stench of deathly battle;
When my compact here is done
I shall await in prayer my gentle friend,
That you shall lead me dancing down the last trail.

Lost vision

It is when the first morning clamour rattle,
A howl, a chirp, a creak or clatter,
The nightlong quietness breaks
and the rose flower fragrance
every morning
seeps through the casement.
Does he ever dream of the unseen world?
perhaps! Of the red rose and marigolds
In the garden he had not seen
Rainbows,snowfalls, stars
and Planes and cars!
He rubs his waking eyes to look
at the purring cat by the pillow,
and the roses-
The daylight rays-
“Am I slumber still?’ thinks he
and the answers in his tears;
‘If these eyes could see;
what a morning it could be.

An anniversary -12 years thence

 

Mellow morning lightly sweep,
This early summer weep
through the garden foliage
The gust of stormy rage,
rain-born brook at the children’s park
I watch as I solemnly walk
In reminiscence of my brother,
O’ I shall not trot any further!
Over the southern plain
solitary I look in vain
hopeful of the visage dear
To appear,
Upon the crimson hue
Plaintive tears due
for the soul,
forever gone.

Words of valediction: On Lyonpo Thakur’s departure from Sherubtse

O’ Lord of the wings
A potent leader,
We the nation builder
In earnest seek
Guidance and glory today
For the last time.
Every single soul
Every little flower,
And thirsting cypress
The college has bred
Must to bow to thee
In immortal gratitude.
You are Sherubtse,
You are its insignia of excellence,
Steering to peak of luminescence
Heart and blood,
O’ Lord of the wings, Our Sir!
We weep to see thee go!

Bouquet of worship-II

-For Penstar,for Sogyel,for Bella, for Karma CW; in dedication

Into social concerns I repose

In your exquisite expression

Of essays etched in patriotic criticism,

Tales told in tactful tides,

Journalism mastered past merit,

Keeps alive the writers spirit,

O’ Penstar!

Thou art the only North Star

We bow to for the

Greatness yet to declare.

Like a vulture’s stroke to heights

In easy flaps,

Stories flow in unbroken prose,

Dissertation dance in captive compose,

Memoirs marked in truthful tunes

Of infancy and playful youth;

Of synopsis set to brevity

O’  Sogyel!

Only you can inscribe

In unexpected topic and text

At the hearth in sleepless silence

To the tattered elders listened,

To local fairy-tales told;

As the embers faded to wintry cold,

O’ Bella!

Thou art born a chronicler

Bygone past you revive,

Traditional legacy you spread

In beauty, in meticulousness;

The dream that almost was lost.

Like a samurai swift in flamboyance

Wield mysterious moves;

Comes the threesomes phrases

Woven in vibrant verses;

Praises life and love,

Nature writ in sanguine sanity

O’ Karma!

Warrior of fewer syllables,

Sounds of fathomless fury,

Draw thy haiku yet again!