Sunday, February 20, 2011

the tale of a town and many villages

The painted winds of east
gushed, told a tale and vanished
Possessing the blanket knitted by cold and dust
the new flowers hided that tale
throughout their eyes
within their hearts

Years, as fishes in the water
slipped away from the time
the love of the town bulged as mountains
in the angles of desire
in the marshes of will

One night the awaken mother saw that
plucking the flowers from the stem of village
Gangtok was fleeing away
from that very night and in every night
Gangtok snatches and takes away the flowers
also the leaves, branches and stem

and one day, mother went there and saw:
Gangtok was not became a garden by so many flowers
again she returned and saw:
the songs of birds that Gangtok could not steal
also the tune of winds and the smell of earth
indeed it is impossible to steal the flats of solitude
oh, impossible is to rob the blue verse of sky
also the Sa Re Ga Ma Pa Dha Ni Sa of the streams

‘Mother, only flowers are not your offspring
these songs, these tunes and these smells
these flats, these verses and
the ascending scales of musical notes
are also your children
You are not solitary, mother
not you are alone’:
Saying this the flowers of Lalpatey
showed her palm

Mother picked the radiance of the Sun
and hided within her womb.

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