Letter to Family

I sent my homesickness to my family
Through the wind and clouds.
I hope you will receive it in your substantial dreams.
Don’t cry mother,
I will fly back when I grew the wings of right.
Don’t worry father,
I will come back when I achieve the first aim of mine.
Don’t miss me my brother,
I will return when I become an educated man.
Don’t weep my sister,
I will be back when our national flag rise over the land of Snow.
Then I tell you
Why I was escaped to India without saying words.

by the wanderer of snow land
 
 

The Sound of the River

The river flowing to Tibet is the secret
which I keep for a long time.
In that river there are many drops
of the sweat of patriots.
Mixed into that river are people
who sacrificed their lives for Tibet.
You know each sparkle has histories and losses.
The sound of the river tells us
of our past and present  situation in Tibet.
Makes us cry
for the future generations.
If you don’t know
the secret of the river.
Then take more care
to listen to it’s secret sound.

by the wanderer of snow land
 
 

Me and my Ma

I have come to the direction
of the sky colored lake.
Abandoned the mountains and rivers,
And come through the land of desert.
Carrying my mother’s last will.
Leave her hopes for me on her lid.
I lift my faith higher and
Search your trace of footprint
Which my face full of sweat.
I hope to find you somewhere.
But you were jumped into the dense forest
Like as a tiger did.
You were flew beyond the mountains
Like as a eagle did.

Seven years past in quick style still
In the unhappy black tent.
She is asleep there for waiting us.
The departure,
my heart  stamped with brand mark

I wish I could forget it when I was with wine.
I wish I could see her without any tears coming.
I thought I want to be a number one and ambition is the top
but, nightmare never comes reality.
It is my real hatred that
I am so greedy.
There is no way to be content on this sullen world

by the wanderer of snow land
 
 

The Sickle-Shaped Moon

The buses are driving forward to our motherland
like wild horses on the plateau.
The sickle-shaped moon is rising clearly
over the peaks of the eastern mountains.
The rays of the moon are shining
into the windows of my house.
It is like the sickle-shaped moon
when I left my family in Tibet ten years ago.

Dear sickle-shaped moon.
You saw me off when I escaped to India and
I am sure you will fetch me back home too.
You knew every step of my life perfectly.
You are the mirror which can show me my reflection.
I never forget you in case you are my life.

by the wanderer of snow land.