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

FLOWERING SPECTACLE

In whatever hues they blossom,

Flowers are beautiful universally,

Some lasts for months, some just for a day,

This one lasts for a day and completes a cycle,

Of a miraculous transformation for eyes to behold.

From lily-white in the morn, pink-white combo by noon,

And before the night falls, it transforms to pink in toto,

Providing ample introspective fodder to discern,

In the silence of night; on a miracle that just unfolded.

Gyembo Namgyal

Pemagatshel

October 9, 2015

THE QUIXOTIC RAIN

There is incessant rain falling,

From pregnant dark clouds blanketing.

From puddles to rivulets they become brooks,

And gushes of white-water from collection of creeks,

Back to where it began the water keeps journeying.

There are flashes of lightening outside,

It’s the architect of darkness inside.

When the light goes out in sudden,

Darkness returns to incandescent and tungsten,

Halogen, fluorescent and iridescent on all sides.

There are people groping in the darkness,

A faint blue light from a gadget comes in fastness.

A flickering light on the matchstick follows,

And just when a candle is lit to light, though shallow,

Electricity returns all bright and glowing in vastness.

Sooner the candle is put out by someone blowing,

The wig begins emitting faint smoke flowing.

Then a flash outside brings about darkness yet again inside,

Darkness mocks at inhabitants quixotically from all sides,

And this time all stay still except for the sounds of rain on the roof; beating.

Gyembo Namgyal

Pemagatshel

June 24, 2015 02:30 PM

A STREET WALKER

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

SPINNING LEAVES AND SWAYING LEAVES

picture: google

Warming days is a sign spring is here

Soon there will be heat and rains will follow

For now buds on trees are bulging everywhere

Even blades of green grasses emerge from below.

It’s spring when the winds blow strong

Rattling roofs of houses and huts just to mock

Sometimes it   breaks and uproots trees that are strong

Sending panic and making feared souls run amok.

But today it was a gentle breeze and not gutsy wind

That could just sway the bamboo groves by the road side

It could neither break branches nor rattle roofs of any kind

But dislodge old leaves and deposit them far and wide.

Some leaves came down fast, spinning like turbine

Some dropped leisurely swaying and floating fine.

Gyembo Namgyal

February 23, 2015 11:50 PM

PATH TO RETREAT

From where the motor road ended,

A track begins in zigzag snaking uphill,

That takes to a place where elders reside,

Away from the hullabaloos, on the peak of a hill.

The climb uphill was not easy but arduous,

The legs become heavy, the loads burden us down.

Out of breath and chests heaving, every step is laborious,

Relieved it was reaching the knoll over cliff’s crown.

Glad it felt to throw the load off and lay down flat,

And catch my breath and let the heaving subside.

And lo, the sight that unfolded took my breath away,

Right in front is the entire valley sprawling on all sides.

The wind blows hard on this vantage point,

Where prayers travel fast written on wind horse flags,

So the knoll is strewn with prayer flags strung all over,

Blowing wildly in urgency, prayers spread from these flags.

From here the track just winds up further into the forest,

Of oaks and cypress in new flush and rhododendrons in full bloom.

The landscape is scenic and scintillatingly surreal,

There cannot be any reason for gloom to loom.

From there the elders took on,

Loads divided, the journey resume,

Not far is the destiny that is so serene,

And on the same track our return journey too resume.

Gyembo Namgyal

February 20, 2015 11:10 PM

BEAUTIFUL, BUT...

From that vantage point

On the road that was new but quaint

We give rest to our rickety old car

To gather itself for the travel afar

Like beast of burden all but gaunt.

The road was empty but overgrown

With brushes that looked like sown

For they are right on the road’s centre

Was it really a road or a jungle’s epicenter?

It’s road, the brushes are being mowed down.

While we rest and give rest to machine

We devour the sight of the landscape so pristine

The mountains all green as far as eyes can see

But a cancer like mine eats into the beautiful green sea

A sign of greed expanding its wings not so fine.

Gyembo Namgyal

February 14,2015 11:05 PM

VALENTINE DAY-A TRIBUTE TO LOVE

Picture: google

Valentine day is back again,

Romance blooming in the air,

People in love or looking for one,

Shower love, the best way you can,

If you didn’t, may today be the day.

For one more time relive even your lost love,

If you were ditched, true love awaits you,

If your love went unrequited, it’s not your fault,

If you are not loved, love back liberally.

Express love with no hesitation,

Shower all the love you have in your heart,

For in loving someone, your love will only grow,

And only in loving someone, you love yourself,

And for one day let there be no heartbreaks.

Love is a universal religion worship it,

It is a language all human heart can understand.

Love transcends time and distance, colour and race,

Religion and beliefs, language and laws.

It is a language our hearts speak without utterances,

It is the innate quality that we are born with,

Who are we to forestall its progression?

So let’s celebrate the sacrifices of Saint Valentine,

Let there be love like Romeo and Juliet,

Sha Jahan and Mumtaz,

Jodha and Akbar,

Paris and Helena,

Salim and Anarkali,

And our own Singye and Galem.

The legends live on in our hearts,

But all ordinary love stories,

Are as legendary as any of those legends,

For no love is small and no love is great.

Love is love and only hearts can feel it,

Love gives reasons for heart to grow fonder,

On weathered faces or radiant one,

On withered body or robust one.

Love is a balm for aching heart,

Love can heal a broken heart,

Love is ambrosia for wailing soul,

And can melt a stubborn heart.

Give your love the freshness of spring season,

The warmth of the summer season,

And the bounty of autumn.

Let there be fragrance of your love in breeze,

And blow away hatred and vengeance.

Grow love and nurture in your heart,

Share love and let it touch everyone’s soul.

Today, on this Valentine’s Day

Don’t let a heart go asking why?

Answer with nothing but, love and more love.

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!

Gyembo Namgyal

February 13, 2015

11:50 PM

A BLADE OF GRASS

Picture: Google

A blade of grass in the meadow

In the breeze it waves ceaselessly

Gently with rhythm in the morning air

In the afternoon it sways as vigorously.

An ant walks on to the tip of the grass

As if to survey the whereabouts of its members

With its antennae alert on all its sensors

For it lost its path and cannot remember.

Then a drop of rain falls from the sky

And it rolls slowly to the grass tip bent low

A bumble bee came buzzing past and a

Butterfly rode in wind to see what’s the glow.

The water drop falls finally to the ground

On to the back of the ant passing by

A cow came grazing but, missed the blade

To the setting sun the blade of grass waved good bye.

Gyembo Namgyal

February 11, 2015 11:10 PM

A COWBOY IN A BOONDOCK

In a bush covered lonesome moorland,

A lonely old-timer watches his cattle grazing

From a mossy rock that is a vantage point.

He beams sending furrows deeper on his wizened face,

A bamboo hat on his head, a machete hangs on his hip,

A flute to serenade is tugged under the belt,

The belt that holds his threadbare Gho well above his knees,

And he shouts barrage of habitual commands to cattle in the meadow.

In the distance is a small hamlet,

Dark houses sprawl on the slope,

Till the place where no longer a home can stand.

Eerily silent the hamlet looked from afar,

Hardly is it different when you are closing near.

Dark are the houses and some in ramshackle state,

All bear sooty looks from ageless use,

Of ceaseless burning of woods in their hearth.

Though they stand as testimony of habitation,

There is no sign some are in use anon,

And the cowboy says half are empty and half on the verge.

This is the place where many herded cattle,

For generations and as long as he can remember,

Where they played traditional games in midday,

And in groups shared some of their rowdy jokes in rain,

Of their muscular heroics and tryst with fairer sex,

But it is he alone who come to the same place now.

His bones are aching from arthritic joints,

His muscles are wasting and eyesight failing.

One day he will no longer herd his cattle here,

And that will be the death of a tradition, his infatuation.

His heart laments on his emptying village,

The old are passing and young are schooling,

Learning how and why not come back to old ways,

The agile are drifting looking for greener-grasses,

People are becoming heartless like any other races.

But he leaves a message-what you are looking for is here,

He know it’s all futile and no one will lend ears,

No one is made to listen but to be egocentric,

He cries inside of what he is witnessing,

This village now is a far cry from what it used to be,

But, he must be subservient to the fate he is consigned,

To the day he is able; he will come back and herd his cattle here,

Until he is no more able or no more are his body and soul together.

Gyembo Namgyal

December 24, 2014

9:30 PM

WINTER

picture source: Google

It is winter, when the wind blows strong,

Lashing on your face like you are wrong,

You cannot see it in any form,

But it is there like it is the norm.

It is winter, on the high mountains tops,

Or the low valley gully drops,

On the high mountains are snow white caps,

In the low valleys icicles form on water drops.

It is winter, deciduous trees are stark naked,

Not a leaf stand, on the boughs all crooked,

Fast withers blades of grasses en mass,

Until the wind blows them away all in mass.

It is winter, when the smoke rises,

From the chimneys of the plush high rises,

And the smokes also bellows in thick plumes,

From crevices and over ramshackle huts, it looms.

It is winter, it is cold,

In the mugs brews are bold,

Buttered tea, espresso coffee,

Yummy porridge, devour feeling no gaffe.

It is winter, it is cold,

Thick clothes in vogue are sold,

High boots, woolen jumpers, long stockings,

In the discos wearers do the rocking.

It is winter, it is cold, and people pour,

Out of discos in twos and fours,

All high, even mild are first tipsy,

And the bold all fall flat topsy-turvy.

It is winter, it is cold,

For those soul that are old,

Under the thick of warm blanket’s fold,

They snuggle like they found gold.

©Gyembo Namgyal

Pemagatshel

11:30 PM

Haila….., it has been over a week. More than a week, perhaps over ten days to be precise since I last updated my blog. I am sorry, I was busy. Honestly busy. And the worse thing is that for the same period we had power outage during the days. I had to burn the late night candles to work on some deadlines and the updates had to wait.

I know I have obligations to the small but valuable circle of my blog readers, so I had to do it today; crude and raw as it may be perpetually. So have little fun reading this poem that was inspired by what is going through me as I begin working my fingers on laptop keyboard. Cold has enveloped me. It has to because this is winter and it is all powerful right now. Just feel, even the glowing sun has to cull its heat intensity….and who am I to be defiant?

Have a good night guys and may god bless you and love you all!!!

GN

REFLECTIONS IN THE INNOCENT EYES

Perched On a precarious slope,

A hut stands hanging near collapse,

Inside the dwellers are as diverse,

From the grand old man to naive children.

As the old man watches the sun going down,

A sibling scurries between work and play,

The boy in old shorts; not been to school yet,

His sister in dress is a sign she is just back from learning.

She is home but she wears uniform,

A faded blue kira it was,

But the fringes are falling loose,

Will it make it to the yearend? It has to.

A careful tread inside the hut,

Brings about a tremor akin to a quake,

Fading light peeps through the rattling window sill,

But the years of soot have all and sundry painted in black.

The winter is approaching; the crisp air is a sign,

But the crevices are a plenty, and the cold will have no mercy,

Winter can be cruel if you are not wary,

But clothes are scanty and the family is in worry.

An old battered pot boils on the ancient oven,

With fire licking the soot insulated archaic bottom,

Even when the bright electricity illuminates the vicinity,

Wood still burns the hearth and warms the hut here.

As the mother boils a broth,

The children look on expectantly,

The eyes says it all without speaking,

That their stomach grumbles hungrily.

The girl squats near the door,

And watches the fire burn in the oven,

The boy inches closer the cackling embers,

Its warmth as enticing as the broth in the pot.

The eyes of the young girl sparkle beautifully,

As the fire in the oven mirrors in her glassy eyes,

She smiles a beautiful smile sheepishly,

To the snotty grin of her rowdy little brother.

The darkness envelops the lonely hut,

And the old man comes in; a stick in his scrawny hand,

The girl with her innocent eyes peep outside intermittently,

For her father has not yet returned from the forest.

Outside-the place is desolate,

Inside- the poverty is stark,

The house needs repair before falling,

So the father has to go lumbering.

There is helplessness in the grand old man’s face,

There is pain in the woman’s face although she tries to smile,

Those innocent looking eyes may not know why-who knows?

But it is the reason why the father toils alone past the dark night.

There is anguish in your heart at the cruelty of this world,

For some bask and indulge in the wealth and abundance,

From poverty some cannot find a path to escape,

And those innocent eyes keep you haunting, long after you are gone.

Gyembo Namgyal

November 19, 2014, 9:00 PM

Dear readers, it is painful whenever we see injustice in life. We want to do something but always lack the means and those who have the means are least bothered. Today, we in Bhutan have one of the highest per capita wealth in South Asia but, this does not mean we are prospering by any means. Some sections of the people are prospering but the majority is not. Some live in abject poverty right next to prospering lot. This is not fair. We are moving further away from the ideals of His Majesty the King and the Fourth Druk Gyalpo, of a country that should not have the extremes between haves and have nots.

This simple poem is dedicated to those two children and the children like them; so innocent and faultless and yet unaware what the future holds for them. May God Bless Them.

AN ODE TO HIS MAJESTY THE FOURTH DRUK GYALPO

PHOTO COURTESY: GOOGLE

(A humble expression of gratitude to Bhutan’s beloved  great king, His Majesty Jigme Singye Wangchuck, the Fourth Druk Gyalpo on the occasion of His Majesty’s 60^th birth anniversary on November 11, 2014.)

My king, O my destined king!

In the hidden land of Baeyul,

A prince was born in the dragon kingdom,

Under the auspicious signs and divination,

As propheciesed by Ugyen Guru Rimpoche.

My king, O my peerless king!

There was a limitless joy in the kingdom,

Upon the birth of you in this blessed land,

It marked the dawn of happiness,

And ensured the perpetuation of the royal lineage.

My king, O my enlightened king!

It was the most auspicious day and the year,

With constellations and stars all in harmony,

As the beloved king, the emanation of Avaloketeshwara,

Descends in a celestial palace in the wood sheep year.

My king, O selfless king!

You are born destined to take the helm of governance,

But, in the service of the nation you forfeited your youth,

And led the nation at the tender age of seventeen,

Amid the heartbreak in passing away of the nation’s father.

My king, O my wise king!

You became the youngest monarch in the world,

Your charm was matchless, sending hearts fluttering,

But it is your wisdom that held all others in awe,

The nation’s heartbreak soon healed in the confidence of your reign.

My king, O my great king!

You ushered in an era of peace and tranquility,

And the nation made wholesome strides, others can only wish,

There was smile on the faces; there was happiness in the land,

From your heart was born the ideals of Gross National Happiness.

My king, O my people’s king!

You are the father, the ruler and the guardian,

You are the precious inner jewel,

You are the outer wall, the nation’s protector,

And an indispensable national life-force.

My king, O my genius king!

It is in folk lore and legends that,

Kings have gone to war and led battlefields,

But you did it at the front-line flushing out guerrillas,

When others would have hidden under fortified bunkers.

My king, O my people’s king!

There was peace, there was harmony,

There was progress, there was happiness,

But silently you engineered colossal transition,

And ushered in ground shaking reforms.

My king, O my visionary king!

When bloods were shed and lives lost,

In the world of power struggle and consolidation,

You ushered in the constitution, the mother of all laws,

And became the architect of power devolution.

My king, o my selfless king!

To people you handed back the reins of power

A century after people joined hands to enthrone the first king

And the nation’s heart broke when you decided to abdicate

As people stood stunned, with pleads of reconsideration all but futile.

My king, O my visionary king!

Heart break it was for us all but,

As the nation comes to the term,

We realize, how visionary your thoughts were,

You saw what we could not even fathom.

My king, O my beloved king!

We are blessed to be your subject,

We are not ruled but, served by an enlightened king,

No words can express our gratitude for your deeds,

We can only feel with our skin covered in goose bumps.

My king, O my compassionate king!

May your majesty live forever,

Like the sun that keeps shining each day,

You are like a snow lion as your name say,

That only traverses this earth once in an eon.

My king, o my dharma king!

May you live with health and happiness,

May the teaching of Buddha flourish,

May all your aspirations be fulfilled,

Only then will we be realizing your boundless vision.

My king, O my king!

“There never was a king like you before and

There never will be another like you in future”

Said His Majesty, the King Jigme Khesar,

And there never will be another king in the universe like Your Majesty indeed.

Gyembo Namgyal

November 11, 2014 3:00 PM

AUTUMN SEASON

picture:courtesy Riku Dhan Subba

It’s a sign autumn is here,

When the rain is nowhere near,

And milder turns the weather,

With rolling clouds drifting like feather.

It is a sign of autumn’s advent,

When the sun has no heat to vent,

And farmers bask in its retreading shine,

To the evening’s bonfire of wine and dine.

Autumn is here when the breeze is cold,

And the leaves break from the boughs fold,

Under tree’s canopy they all gather,

And end up in farmlands all asunder.

Autumn is the happy season,

Smiles on the faces its reason,

It’s time to reap what was sown and cared,

And for months with vigilant eyes which were reared.

Autumn is the season farmlands transform into golden hue,

And the grain laden stalks sway lazily as harvest is due,

Sooner the farmers come with jubilation, sickle in their hands,

To take home merrily those golden grains abound.

Autumn is here when the ripe fruits adorn the trees,

Whose boughs bend low unmoved by blowing breeze,

Then people start picking, basket on their backs,

And to the market goes yellow mellow fruits in stacks.

Autumn is a season of festivities never ceasing,

Air in the valleys filled with melody so rousing,

Of songs and dances that keep on reverberating

An offering to god sends people celebrating.

Autumn is here when birds sing ad infinitum,

Rejoicing at the season of bounty’s continuum,

That ensures their young ones will not go hungry,

For the season of plenty is finally here in the country.

Gyembo Namgyal

Pemagatshel

November 9, 2014 2:10 PM

Dear esteemed reading friends, I am really sorry for not being able to update my blog post for the last couple of days. I am sure not many would have noticed it but, for those who take time to visit my blog, I have to inform here that, I was unusually busy and I could not update my blog with my crap of writing. I hope, all of you must have had some wonderful days with the blessings of the Triple Gem.

Meanwhile, take care and be happy always. It is always so much better to be happy with what you have (even if you don’t have anything- like me) than, being miserable with what we don’t have!

Happy Reading!!!

Kadrinchey.