To You Poem by Tenzin Tsewang

In the shrine room glimmer of butter lamps flickers me your Name. Not even
holy flame faraway me from you.
To the old aged bones, badly injured in back and forth as one rises for one has fallen.

To the
smell of faint smoke from nomads tent whose swirls briefly dress the naked sky. To the
river Tsangpo
Whose memory dives me into the bottom of her depth. To the
People of the Tibet
The never changing voice over
centuries not washed away with ignorance. To the
Water and the
wood, undisplaced you, when you get displace. Tibet
Will froze in the polluted Beijing air,
word after word.

And what will left of me in exile, except
Fantasize you which
struggle,
to not,
ever, faraway me from you.