for it is in the minds of men and women that the defences of peace and the conditions for sustainable development must be built. ~UNESCO

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Fulfilling an Unfulfilled Project- College Magazine PART VII

Beauty of life
Duly clad in a pleasant weather with neither heat nor frost,
The cock crow unfolded with bizarre mirth, attesting massively
Ever extra-usual sunrise. The immature dawn unfurled most
With soothing stance before the largest fire that furtively
Looted a look in between two peaks and gazed upon the road;
Positioned in mild and calm sate under the colors
Of birds, warbling and chirping nearby, cast-board
Their tuneful ditties, and paved the way with warm welcome,
For the people who bypassed the thoroughfare.

The road seemed clean and scintillating through the bed of roses;
Bloomed wide open around and bees, attracted by their aroma,
Landed on to suckle the nectar from them, the place was
In absolute serenity lacking even a presage of disharmony
And made up the heavenly spot to rejoice: outshone and surpassed
The Godly peace, and promised for its eternal tranquility.

Amidst a peculiar milieu, appeared an aristocratic lass
On her tip-toe heels, bearing an impeccable visage which shone
As bright as full moon during a clear winter night, with her dark,
Long hair sagging loosely in the air when budged by the soft
Dawned-breeze. I wondered, ‘What a beauty of Life.’ They befitted
The feminine, walking impetuously in beauty, and composed no flaw.

She sparkled off her red-striped Kishuthara designed with silky
Patterns, with pinkish Wonju inside the black Goechen Tego,
And a blue, fingerless muffler twirled twice around her neck,
And the knotted under the chin. Well suited her inborn pasty
Complexion and made her to shine more.

Her pointed black boot, that befitted her, lashed on the paved footpath making a
Hoofing resonance that reverberates far and wide, loud and charismatic
To the onlooker, and made rhythm for the hymns of the morning
Birds and the sound of a garrulous brook that captured the ears
Of living creatures around, and ushered the lady with utmost homage.

Now the sun hid behind the clouds, the rainbow disappeared
Among the mists, the flower began to fold and drop down,
Songs of birds, din of river, and buzzing racket of bees
Clogged at sudden. “Is this the beauty of life?” My second
Heart inquired me, but sarcastically. I could not wrangle
With him, but pitched my self in great perplexity.
                                         Thukten Tshering.


This life isn’t the end but,
Beginning of the end.
Because I like to begin,
When one ends because an end is-
Just the beginning of yet another.
Ups and downs, tears and laughter,
My life is composed of all,
I love the way life is,
Jack of all, master of none,
Varieties, spice of life.

I cry, I laugh, I sing and I dance,
Life surely is good but also bad.
I fly high, I fall deep,
It is all a fall and rise game life,
And I felled and I rose.
Past failure-long time gone,
I won’t look back, no regret,
Future- still long way ahead,
I won’t pine for, no fantasy,
Here I am, dwelling in the moment.

Like the sun setting today,
Only to shine the next morning,
And with more warmth and,
Light, may the world be protected
From the cold and darkness.
Salt and oil, chillies and cheese,
With all make a dish palatable,
I like the taste and the way too,
Neither salts more, nor oils less,
Varieties, masala of the dish.

To care is to crack, to fall is to rise,
You fall seven times, stand ten times,
And everytime you rise with hope and,
The last fall be the last, because you know,
How and why you fell- you won’t fall again.
The past isn’t you, nor is the future,
Your past is dead; your future is unborn,
You are the moment, the present be it,
I’m the moment; I live in the moment,
If you think, I am a shit, you are a double shit.

Phub Dem
Individual diversity

Some are borne high, others low,
Some are lucky and others wretched,
A few are polite, most are cruel.
Some are kind, others inhuman.
Changeable are some, while
Rest, ‘as constant as the northern star’.
Yet none to be cursed but selves;
Result is what we experience today,
Of the deeds we performed yesterday.

Others dance on lap of luxury,
Whilst some still are on breadline’
Some learn fast, others late,
One’s medicine is poison to others.
Some reap success and bliss,
Others go round in circles,
Without any joy but failure,
Still then grumble not, for is this
The effects of that we have cultivated.

Some are inclined in babbling,
Others reserved, some look elegant,
Others unsightly, some love socialization
While others are merely lonely wolves.
Some are slaves under others;
And some become commanders
While others servant to them.
But a cloth, whether be made
Of ‘goechhen’ or ‘khasha’, are to fade.

Some are playful, others a cold fish
Some succeed, others cast envious eyes,
Some think deep, others surface.
Some work with tongue, others with brain,
Courageous are some, others timid.
Sincere are a few, some act smart
In other’s clothes, some are great,
But others act great, yet curse not others;
Bear with whatever you possess now.

Wise are some, but hypocritically,
Others are while, what they are,
Some do things  rationally,
Others plunge themselves into regret.
Some are honest and truthful;
Others-clock that reads the wrong time,
Some -always busy as bees,
While others are as free as birds,
Yet destined are all to enter a death tunnel.

Nima Zangmo

Days that are no more

Sometimes when I ‘m alone
And loneliness haunts my heart
I sit near the window—in total silence—
And think of the days, the days
Those are but only memories

I love to go back, way back to the land
Where everything is in harmony
Nature and its elements,
Where love of parents, smile of friends,
And kindness of neighbours in abundance

I love to go back, way back to the puddle
Where I played and had fun,
Where I could steal the glance
Of sparkling water fall in distant view
And cows grazing the fresh grasses,
Hear birds chirping, wind whistling
Bees hovering and butterflies fluttering

I love to go back, way back to the world of
Nursery-rhymes and story books
Where I have seen the beauty of words
And the wonder of story books
Where I discovered friends
And expanded my world beyond

I love to go back, way back to the college
Where I discovered my identity
Build the dreams of life
Where I roamed in best company of friends

These memories, so permanently
Printed in my memory are but
Great company in times of loneliness
In times of distress,
In times of happiness too!

Wish I could fly now
To my native land and
Fly back rejuvenated
Tshering Wangchuk III EP B

  Terror to my happiness

Life has solely graced me with unpleasant memories
When my soul forever longed for immortal happiness
“Fed up” the ultimate phrase I am left with
To soothe my vulnerable, heart breaking soul.

Little happiness did I ask God as my share
In price to my flawless enchanting prayers.
Eternal peace and tranquility I have been praying for;
Tears! The ugliest thing I was ever gifted with.

Alas!  My numbed heart aches;
The beat could be heard across the ocean.
O! The saviour of the universe, I beseech you, drag me not
Into the catastrophic stormy ocean of tears.

Like the thirsty cactus beneath the scorching sun in the Arabian desert
Yearning for erratic shower to descend from high,
I am amongst one with my wounded heart as dry as desert
Longing to cast eternal shower of happiness in my life.

It’s a nightmare for me to flash back over
My heavenly life ruined into particles of dust because
Misery had crept over my numbed body;
Opened its mouth to the optimum to gobble them up.

I did my best to beautify my illusionary life:
I gave my best to soothe myself from being demolished
I gave my best to reach the pinnacle of blissfulness
But vain if life is unenthusiastic to offer her happiness.

Exasperation and torment has crept over my life
Like the ivy creeping over the trees;
My dream in pursuit of happiness
Is being watered down. 

Now I give up in pursuit of happiness
Nor can I pretend to be happy anymore.
Perhaps, the unripe time has overshadowed my life
To reluctantly bid farewell to this filmy world.

People, I urge you to wake up;
Open your curtained eyes; look at yourself
We are a mere puppet dancing to the tune
Composed by this illusionary world.

                                                                            By Mila Wangchuk EH III

Memoir of my mother

She was the cornerstone of our family,
A paramount in our life,
An industrious woman,
For her painstaking children.
Buck us up in confronting chaos.

I could see her munching lettuce,
Doctor told her to devour it so.
She crunched as much as she could,
For she wanted to be heal,
From the terminal disease she had.

In lieu of being robust, she deteriorated day by day,
And plunged the time
Where she had to slouch on her bed,
Day and night.

My sister hovered near her,
Escorted her everywhere.
Alas! The haunting day came.
My mother went to deep slumber
Awfully very far from us.

Eyes welled up with tears,
My brother was scaffolding her.
We were anesthetized
And all I could hear was clamour of cries,
And prayers chanted by the monks.

Living us like birds without wings
In this catastrophic world,
We would be desperadoes.
Where we need her inspirations,
And avocation in each pace we leap.
“Take care of my children”,
Was her last word.
Time elapses by but still,
I savour her ephemeral presence in our life
I would be complacent,
If I am her child in the next generation.

Pempa Lhamo
English pry ‘B’ III yr

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