Wake up, you fool!
Oh, think not I’m a log;
I am awake now, only now.
See the tag: Brazen
But am I as branded?
Over, I’m late now.
A stain, stigma attached
But the cunningness escaped.
A clear mind sullied,
A right motivation perverted,
A sense of love spoilt,
The precision passed.
A wagging wolf approached,
An amenable prey subdued—
What’s left, an inflated heart,
Gliding over the maze passed.
Oh, you fool!
Spare not your heart that blindly,
The countenance can be moulded;
A satanic mind has been at works within.
Now, I see the inner curves, so pathetic, so ordinary.
This piece shouldn't be mistaken as what I hold deep down for Y, who I take as the beacon, hope and warmth of my poor bleached heart. It's for the other one who came to me like a satan in disguise, but, unfortunately, at the same time to reveal the evil magic of her fawning cunningness. But I am, by the grace of Triple Gems, resilient and haven't fallen in the abyss of self-torment. Thanks!
However dense the flurries I trudge through—
Muddled headed no place for fixation—
I grip on to it—the firmness I should prove—,
Facing pale, paler to desolate greyness everywhere.
Why even thou, the full moon last night,
Spotted that pale, morosely tarnished, upon me.
Standing and staring at from the narrow front yard,
I saw you cared for me, my friend!
And the stark naked neem tree beside,
The wilted torso and branches, sparse limp leaves,
Joined me too having nothing to hide its emotions;
An artistic view it created with the gleaming moon after all.
Yes, the depth of it I should reach,
The proof being spontaneously true I should find,
But not to show off: To simulate it is to fool myself.
This firmness, even if invalid, should stand trial along the time.
Yet to hone and see, How much more to go The fullest realization ahead I starve for… A hue to be added— This bleached heart so pale.
A scintillating thought, A learning to draw closer What a wise one prepossesses….foresees, But it remains that unsullied, Now a thin line surfaces See how crude it is there!
Oh, yes, for it, What it should be... A new chapter unfurling. How stupid I’ve been, Unprepared, albeit honest and firm. It isn’t ample—should see deeper.
And there, as I learn along, The pain lies as said, But mere indulgence I care not. My ground is still firm, A shield I have already built To wage a war—what I find there.
More such painful stories pierce my numbed ears; I still hold on being confident yet not unwittingly. Spontaneous it is; strained how it can be— Why I look deeper but still remain intact…
Hold the ground! I whimper ignorant of those peeps, gapes— I don’t find it going down, but should hold the ground firm ever. A ledge I can carve out from it, the precipice manageable, A foothold I can and should find there—not from here, I lag far behind.
The crawling winding road from Manali to Leh; he took it after arriving at a certain point of the summit where the taxi stops for a break en route.
A scenic capture of Manali, must be taken from where he stayed for dipping in hot springs.
An apple-garden in Manali; the greatest time of the year with blooming fruit-trees around. For me, a true reminiscence of my home and childhood in Bhutan.
This is the present scene of the hot-springs housing camp where many go for dipping that is believed to cure a certain ranging diseases of chronic carriers--dyspepsia, arthritis, rheumatism, backpain, jointpain, etc.
A night scene Lodoe could capture in time. The lonely silhouette of the giant-looking tree is manipulated to look that sedate and forlorn.
In Manali, a waterfall he and his mates came upon by accident during their hiking excursion in the hills.
In Manali, the towering snow-clad ridges, the part of the Himalaya ranges.
Another scenic capture Lodoe had on his ascending way to Leh from Manali; it's in Manali.
A nice capture from the taxi en route to Leh; a view of Rathang La.
A Tibetan baby-boy beside his mom: A nice picture.
The one part of Leh, the main town or capital of Ladhak.
The other part of Leh surrounded by barren landscape.
A barren landscape in Ladhak bears its beauty against the verdant one below exuding its verdure.
A blooming potato field in Garsha, HP, that seems to exchange its exuberant lushness splendor with the clear ocean blue sky and the half-clad shivering snowy ridges grandeur: A matching reception.
