Blind.

From a distance, the sunlight was blinding

I saw red skirts running around and chattering.

bright smiles and peaceful hands

when they turned I saw their faces

One of them was mine

but she was a thousand years old.

They ate dusty fruits and giggled all the way home.

I stared at them from the interiors of a steaming tin furnace.

The red skirt and the white shirt are long forgotten now.

The blue corridors have eaten them up.

Pome

It is the yellow light that does me in every time.

The sun and the stars make for very corny love rhymes.

The heart does very bad things to the grammar that I have learnt.

Mystery throbs and I go mad.

Sad, and there comes your smile.

The lovesongs play on loop and make sense.

the child dances inside the caged cell and I jump too.

the ripples and the pebbles stream along with unbroken rhyme.

when you are ugly, you are not overrated anymore.

The View From Little Lhasa: Tibet, in Exile – Speaking Globally

The View From Little Lhasa: Tibet, in Exile – Speaking Globally