WINTER

Desolate appear the landscape,

So far as the eyes can see with ease,

Barren fields and dusty roads,

Grey mountains and naked trees.

Wintry breeze seem to have jagged edges,

 Lacerating feel follows numbness on exposed parts,

So people try shielding with armory of garments,

As the grey clouds hang menacingly, like a doomsday art.

So leaden are the skies in winter,

 Clouds look pregnant but find precipitation labourious,

As highlands wait for snow and rain in lower vales,

And pave way for sunshine to make places salubrious.

Frost in the morning carpets the grasslands in white,

Mist envelopes villages like feathery blanket in tons,

Rendering the sun too febrile even when at its zenith,

So people warm around fire, gossip-mongering in marathon.

The rich are in the cozy rooms sipping exotic whiskeys,

Some are in the bars gulping cheap rums and brandies,

Peasants in their homes down homemade barley brews,

And teetotalers drink gallons of teas and coffees with candies.

Only snotty nosed children seem immune to cold,

As they play with icicles oblivious to the wintry chill,

Even the tempers of vociferous strays seem to ebb,

As most remain coiled in the street corners, whimpering and still.

But winter is a season to relax and rejuvenate,

And be a part of the spoils of the festive season,

Tshechus, losars, New Year and the festivals anon

A season of mirth and merry making, life’s very reason.

pic; google 

Gyembo Namgyal

Pemagatsel

December 28, 2015

A WEAVER AND HER WEAVE

An enchantress, that you are- beautiful,

Bestowed with skills that is unrivaled,

An amalgamation of god’s bountiful,

Spellbound are the eyes for your skills unparalleled.

In frills hangs your silken raven hair,

A tuft tucked behind your shapely ear,

Rests are flying delicately on the flow of the air,

As you come walking, the yarns seem they can hear.

The wooden loom is incomplete without you,

The silk threads go around in colourful triangle,

They spread evenly in the mirage of hue,

Resembling like a rainbow from every possible angle.

So keen and fixated are your gaze,

So nimbly your graceful hands work,

Pulling strains of threads, fingers move in maze,

Dhak..Dhak the shinning beater in rhythm works.

Spectacle it is, the half woven loom revealed,

Of intricate patterns and awe inspiring designs,

And artistically you weave on with patience not trivial,

Thread by thread you will entwine them but not resign.

Occasionally, you adjust the shifting back strap,

That snugs your derriere and holds the loom tight,

Listening to melody you make loops and knots on the angled drape,

Tucking back those hairs interfering with her sight.

The patterns are beautiful even for a naïve eyes,

But special they are and hold meanings so clear,

They are the motifs of trees and delicate butterflies,

And woven patiently for days and months so dear.

One day a beautiful maiden will wear this masterpiece,

On the anointed day where thousands gather,

To watch dances and glittering spectacle of fashionable pieces

But none will be as beautiful as this art put together.

Here I am today; I watch the birth of silken butterflies,

And trees in fruition along with symbolic knot of love,

By the fingers that seem to have eyes of their own to rely,

Of a weaver more beautiful than the weave, an enchantress everyone loves.

Gyembo Namgyal

Pemagatshel

December 15, 2015

FLOWERS--BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS

Ah Flowers! So beautiful are all flowers,

The spectrum of their hues so dazzling.

Beautiful they are on ancient trees,

Or on shrubs by the bank of sparkling rivers.

Flowers bloom all season round,

Most in spring, some in summer, fall and winter.

Some lasts for weeks and months some just for a day,

And some bloom only in the darkness of the night.

Flowers adorn rocky cliffs and deep ravines,

They carpet moors and prairie lands,

And look good even on thorny plants,

And adorn plants growing in hostile arid lands.

Flowers are bewitching to human eyes,

Mesmerized are chirpy birds and humming bees.

Colourful petals leading to reveal exotic aromas,

Ushering to where lay the hidden seductive nectar.

Flowers are the purest offerings man can make,

On the altars of enlightened ones who sits on floral thrones.

Thus even the least bestowed can gain equal merits,

Like those overflowing with material abundance.

So wide are flowers used in human lives,

Their uses transcend all societal and cultural bounds.

And thus there is a flower for any occasion one can fathom,

From mirth and merry making to poignantly somber ones.

Floral garlands signify goodwill,

Bouquets to congratulate,

And  flowers are sent to mend broken hearts,

And wreaths are laid to mourn painful demises.

Varieties hold symbolism like Calla Lily for wedding,

Poppies for bereavement, chrysanthemum for fidelity,

Daisies for pure innocence, orchids for exotic beauty,

And tulip is to express declaration of love.

Hues and numbers have their meanings too,

Red rose is for love and passion, yellow rose for friendship,

Pink for admiration and blue rose to someone who cannot be yours,

And one rose to say I love you, 50 roses to say your love is limitless.

But flower, although enchanting is also ephemeral,

For no matter on what plant they bloom,

Or in which season, they display extravagant colours,

They also leave a poignant message of the truth of impermanence.

Gyembo Namgyal

Pemagatshel

December 11, 2015