Wednesday, 25 February 2015


By the side of a narrow road,
In a far away county away from crowd,
Shanty houses line the street almost empty.
Shop owners are ready but customers are scanty,
Those walking the street, walk straight on the road.

The haste with which they walk is in urgency,
White scarves on shoulders, Tshangla, they speak with fluency,
The frills of the scarf sway to the tune of men’s step,
To the gentle breeze blowing over the area that is steep,
And to the Dzong, a shabbily dressed farmer scampers in urgency.

His white cuffs are soiled, his hair unruly
Rubber slippers clap on the heels cracked cruelly
To anyone smartly dressed he kept bowing
Partly ignorant, mostly innate goodness overflowing
A man of the village with a heart of gold, he is surely.

Gyembo Namgyal

February 25, 2015 10:30 PM

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