Never solstice, in the, Snow-Kingdom
Dared to, melt down, its inertia
The land, whose faith, fear and freedom
Is the king, who reigns, in absentia!
The dusty street, to a maze, of homes
Lay bare, abuzz with, blood-clad souls
With the, burden of, Tibetan chromosomes
A race, of monks, pays China’s tolls!
In the ghost-town, hope just, trudges on…
Thru tombs, of faith, bazaars of belief
As though, each soul, sells for, a Yuan
Misery is, life’s lone, leitmotif!
“With a glory, lost to, past’s pretense
A present, is faith’s, rosary strewn
And a, future worth, history’s pittance”
Sighs A Blasé Tibetan Afternoon!
© 2019 Vikas Chandra