Kezang Dawa, 10 września 2012
I knew not you’re in the heart of broken yoreThe trust of thy is shakenTill the end of burning pyre is taken.I can see the smoke on top of the windFloating like the stratocumulus;Those smoke does not belong to meIt all belongs to the mortal death.Oh! Son, be the tearless man to cry;Before I was burn to ashes.But my sickness won’t be last long.I am happy that thou saw my death!Has come from all angle;To grieve at my eternal leave taking.Truth of death never lie;It keeps on stretching with the streakOnly angle of death must tell you the absent.Feel the knot of thy death knell;When everything is decay for the warm to feed
Kezang Dawa
Kezang Dawa, 10 września 2012
What is a poem?Someone says… poem,Is powerful words expressed,through agony of a broken heart
during the strugglewhen love is but pain.Nothing is neither rightnor wrong when itcomes to the title of a poem,It can bring a theme of passion.from sorrow down to happiness.A poem is the hardest sentenceThat comes fromOur lamented heart;Poems are sometimes calledThrilling words of tragic sadness,Words are expressed silentlyFrom our heart toGive a fire in a man’s brainNothing is harder than an epigram,Greater than sorrow;Softer than pain.Pathetic word of a poem;saw the seed to germinate anew.to one another sorrow.That of time we all called it paradox.Poem is the greatest word,Spoken by a man,A poem is read by deaf and dumbFelt by those who suffer the same pain.When a man’s boredom is uprootedinto the words of acceptance,And a poem comes as a purpose of a man.The power of writing poems ruled the heartAs much as human feel the truth of elegy.Now a man cannot write a poemUnless he lived through tragic sadness once….IN all, a poem is the greatest pain expressed!
Kezang Dawa
Kezang Dawa, 8 czerwca 2012
Ode to death
In your eyes, I wither old,
Bade farewell to old, germinate to new
Yesterday never comes, today can't hold
Every man desire to live long
But no man wishes to be old
Once ye are old, thou age cannot be sold
Softness of wrinkle feels the age
There left a little flapping page
Where we shall sow some poem
Once they would read my epigrams
Through eyes do blur and ear go deaf?
Body weak, heart so young
Nodded besides the fireside heaven
Shelter nooks and corner
Those trembling hands hobble to beg
And as it reaches each delicious ending
Every one shall shed tear thy grave
Let me pen a line of glorious tone
Written a plaintive song
Tis not content so soon to be alone
Journey of death cannot be wrong
Peom by Kezang Dawa from BHUTAN
Kezang Dawa, 8 czerwca 2012
Love and lessons
I reclined under a shed of a lonely tree. And the memory of the past streamed in like dream. She left me when she found a wealthy man, not so long ago. I haven't forgotten my love yet. I can never erase her from my mind, it seems. I've tried, because it's so hard not being with her. But she won't ever come back. That much I am sure. I see her everywhere, always. I take a walk, and her beautiful image is everywhere. On the sidewalks, on the rocks, in the trees. In the voices of the people who pass by.
Love is easy. Love is difficult. Love is love. When else is love? To love and to be love, they say, is all we need, all we need is love. Love is suffering too. When love go away, all else leave save pain. And the one devil that's ready to befriend the grief of a loner is the pub and everything that comes with it. You drink your conscience away, scoop your heart out and leave it to be scorned by everyone. You walk home, but the pain is still there. The pain of love abandoned.
There, in the pub, there are those of your kind pouring pains. But there are moments of silence too, When the memory of your love barge in, no excuse. More pain, more tears, more drinks.
Her beauty walks in. it did last night, like it does every moment of my lonely life. Her beauty that outshines the moon and gives life and colour to everything she touches. Her beauty that transcends beauty itself. But never will I have her again. Gone. That's the reason. Is that not a reason enough?
Fate the devil! Sometimes, I try not to believe in it, fate. I don't want some mysterious hands of destiny govern my life and everything that's connected to me. But, wanting not to believe doesn't help. Things continue to happen, for good or for bad. Acceptance, is that defeat? What is consolation then, when none is forthcoming to the lovelorn?
I'll think my way about her to perdition, that's what. I've made my mind. I am determined. This, fate shall have none whatsoever to do with it. I'll remember her in good faith, mock her memory, fling her out and torture her image. That must give me great satisfaction and peace. Some respite that's been lone time due.
The one love I had taught me to hate. Her everything, absolutely. Thus, a man learns every day. Thus, a man becomes a beast. I love not anything. I only hate.
Kezang Dawa from BHUTAN
Kezang Dawa, 8 czerwca 2012
MY LOST ANGLE
Shedding tears of sadness
For our feelings were all in vain;
One has brought disappointment
To my heart's door.
As I wipe teardrops from my eyes,
My sick heart bears the pain.
She plays with my emotion like a toy,
Whilst I earnestly plight the troth,
And sent my senses reeling,
She is jolly by appearance
And playful at heart: I've regret I've been misled
I gave all my heart to her
But in the end, betrayed I have earned.
I don't want to rise in love no more,
Or fall that way again;
For all we get is simply pain.
Kezang Dawa from BHUTAN
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