Younghusband's ghost haunts Padamchen.
Tarmac runs where mule tracks went.
The road from Zuluk climbs in zags.
Wind whips Buddhist prayer-flags.
Iron huts erupt like rash
across slopes of sere yellow grass.
Sangars crown each rocky hill.
Ice films over tarn and rill.
Silent rock and crusted snow
watch the armies come and go.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
good poem..i was transported there