Promise

Beloved, this dying day is no different
Like muted gongs, this child of the stony night
Promises no sound of rain. How many more lives
Do we offer on this hungry altar that knows no prayer?
How many deaths do we die like withered spirits?
Only this road, this fiery eyed beast shall know

Beloved, let this dusty wind break at your feet
This wind deserves no mercy. Beloved, we are tied
To these white sands that offer no warmth, this nightbird
That sings no song to the children of this cruel night. Beloved
Only the promise of this failing dawn shall keep us alive.

Beloved, this night is a bereaved widow
With wounds that refuse to heal. How many more births
Do we live like barren souls? How many scalding nights
Shall pass like this howling wind? Which gates shall guard us
Against the cruel insurrection of this frigid adversary?

Only the quivering flames of my ancestors’ pyres
Shall promise us another barren answer

Tawang

Tawang, this snow like forgotten widowhood
Speaks very little. You do not expect warmth there.
Only the shivering remains of our unholy sins
Only the tepid prayers of these doubtful monks
Can rid you of your manly fears. In Tawang.

There, you want to be young again.
And my mother spoke in silent whispers
Making lukewarm gestures to the Buddha
Tawang, only the staring rocks, the screeching wind
Can remind you of your sublime male fears.

Tawang. There, you do not question the law of the land
You do not engage in idle talk of life and death.
In Tawang, only fear will show you the angry sun
And only the silent waters of this promised land
The white mirage of this cruel earth
Draw you to this forgotten pilgrimage. In tawang.