Ode to a young man

By Tibetan Shepherd

Should it be the same;

The last sight of Ama to me

Kissed on my red crimson cheek

Pressing me under her warmth

Momentarily wrapping her twinkling eyes

Somber stage of cold shed

Like a dewdrops in early autumn dispersed

I held my heart pouncing

She was disappeared distantly

Never gotten after vales of the hill I never turned in

Yet never have I stopped enchanting almost an empty Mantra

I shall return, I shall return

Would it be the same;

The last sight of Ama to you

Unblinking through the furs of hers Chupa

Endlessly hoped your return

She might have followed your footprints

Beading her rosary faithfully

Would have broken hers into stateless

Whilst your soul returned lifeless

Shouldn’t she feel forgiven,

When her dream was stashed into cold blood

At the dark stained hill of Dharamsala;

It should turn so bloody now.

Should it be the same;

Spinning into the sojourn of statelessness

Life is certainly uncertain

Refugee in incredible – suffrage is not meant to us

Like what it shone in the prism of international arcs

I often being lifeless;

Whilst treating me inhuman in localized brutalities

You often being numbed;

Whilst beating you into the cow dungs,

The stains of Gaddes’ hatred,

Released coldly on you young man,

Stashed your heart apart,

Equally stains all who are after yours.

Goons must be quenching the thirst of the next row

Watch out all innocents pelting through

Gaddes are at your door step!

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