Indian Poets on Tibet
Archna Sahni is the recipient of the first Agha Shahid Ali prize for poetry. Her poems have been published in journals such as The Post-Post Modern Review, The Brown Critique, The Indian PEN, Manushi, New Quest, The Bombay Literary Review, Kavya Bharati, Westerly and Tibetan Review. Her first book of poems titled 'First Fire' has been recently published by Yeti Books and will shortly become available. Archna can be reached at archnasahni@gmail.com Passage to Tibet On the terrace From Bodhgaya to Norbulingka We need you Padmasambhava and Vairocana Retracing their footsteps, You can be sure, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . My friend Tenzin, born in Nepal Places never seen, dear friend, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I will come with you, Tenzin, For all of us know More than fifty years of forgiveness In the misty landscape of your land . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Tibetmata
I’m thinking of you
Not only babies
As I saw women in modern chupas
Breaking the prison of Shangri-la
If you put your ear
The ground of your exiled nation
Jana gana mana Avalokiteshwar jai hai
Ghang ri rawe kor we shingkham di
(Circled by ramparts of snow-mountains,
* In brackets is Jamyang Norbu’s translation of the older eighteenth century national anthem of Tibet that precedes it.
A Word for Tibet . . . . . . . . . .
Tibet, the land of sacred monks . . . . . . . . . .
When I heard of 'Dreaming Lhasa' . . . . . . . . . .
Oh, Shangri-la? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
(Dedicated to His Holiness the Dalai Lama)
of Drepung Loseling,
in front of
Dhauladhar ranges,
throw aside all lessons
on creative visualization
and meditate
with open eyes. Carried
on the drumming sound of rain,
listen
to the early morning chanting
of monks
in whose voices
lies the pain of lost causes,
a lost home.
Once they chanted
to celebrate,
now they chant
to heal.
Stark landscapes
of glittering sand and snow,
prayer flags ripping
in the merciless wind,
are loosened
from their hum. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dharamsala
is indeed little Tibet.
Smiling
sun-baked faces
in travellers' photos taken before 1951
line the narrow streets
through which crimson-clad
monks hurry
and colourful wares,
aroma of momos and Potala incense
spill. I touched
the roof of the world
amidst the Dhauladhars. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Who are we Indians
to pose as the gracious ones,
when you, lost children of Buddha,
have finally only come home?
is only a day's journey,
and moreover, the spirit follows
no silk route.
more than you need us. We need
your simple and honest ways
that only five decades ago
lay spread over
the land of the Kinners,
but now lie choked
in open drains or recede
with the green cover of the woods.
centuries ago travelled
from Sarnath to Lamye
carrying Sakyamuni's words in their hearts.
you have only
come home
bringing back relics
we once called our own.
when you look
into the broken mirror
of this vast aching continent, of recognizing
a face you know to be your own.
to Tibetan parents, resident
of Dharamsala, dreams a dream
of freedom: of journeying
to that hill in free Tibet, where his
grandmother and grandfather lived,
eating leavened bread
and carving prayer wheels
for the temple just beyond their view.
are closer to paradise,
like my Kashmir, endangered
but not lost, glimpsed by me
in picture postcards and fading
photos of my parent's honeymoon.
on the day the bugles blow
in Lhasa,
I will come with you
when prayer flags wave
amidst glittering sand or snow
and from the countless
streaming eyes of your people,
a million lotus flowers bloom.
that the writing on the T-shirts,
'Tibet Will Be Free',
is true.
for your persecutors
has forged a golden palace
in the Shangri-la of your heart.
the world calls the roof of the world,
Avalokiteshvara and Mother Tara
sit smiling at the gate
for you.
(I dedicate this poem to the people and lovers of Tibet and to all those who have ever felt the pangs of exile. Poem written on January 26, 2007 - India's Republic Day.)
on India's Republic day
not because some say
polyandrous Draupadi
came from Tibet
or because I can see
your monasteries
rising like hills above the hills
in the West
are born out of people,
nations too –
with babes on their backs
Spoke broken English with monks
in sunglasses
And inhaled Potala incense
amidst the Dhauladhars,
something was conceived
Lamenting Nehru’s mistake and global cowardice
Teaching me the meaning of conscience,
you were born out of me
to the heart of Dharamshala's winding hills
you can hear something
struggling out of the body of Hind:
Tibetswaraj
I walked on
is my country too –
Tibet Bhagya Vidhata
Kham Amdo U-tsang
Himalaya Karakoram Kun-lun
Mekong Yangtse Salween Tsangpo
Ucchala Jaladhi Taranga
Tubh Shubha Name Jage
Tubh Shubha Ashisha Mange
Gahe Tubh Jaya Gata
Jan Gan Mangaldayak Jay He
Tibet Bhagya Vidhata
Jaye He! Jaye He! Jaye He!
Jaye, Jaye, Jaye, Jaye He
Jai Bhod! Jai Hind!
Phen thang dewa ma loe jungwae ne
Chenrezig wa Tenzin Gyatso yin
Shelpal se thae bhardu
Ten gyur chik
This sacred realm,
This wellspring of all benefits and happiness
Tenzin Gyatso, bodhisattva of Compassion.
May his reign endure
Till the end of all existence)*
and innocent laymen.
Before decades,
Tibetans lived with nature,
absolutely with the nature in their mother's lap;
then they practiced non-violence in its real sense,
then they spent life in a state of tranquility.
But, now they are living a life of detainee
in their own land
Or, they are living as refugees in other's land;
in a state of chaos and uncertainty.
Occupation scattered their dreams,
denied their basic rights
and destroying her environmental balance and purity.
unending devour on her nature
cause all these iniquity.
endless journey of greedy men
seeking meaningless pleasure;
destruct heavenly nature
and eventually effect the rhythm of the earth.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The Dawn Is Not Far
I remembered you Tenzin Tsundue
I offer these few lines as my support
to strengthen 'Dreaming Lhasa,
a dream of yours
now you transformed to a lifelong struggle.
I identify your devoted mind,
dedicated the life itself to the cause of Tibet,
a dream of yours
now you condensed to a single prayer
When you place a step of 'lhamo'
When you play the 'khamm'
You are not only performing an art,
but also sparking the dream of 'Lhasa'
and creating your motherland
by preserving her culture and tradition
When I recall the lengthy road of past
I like to repeat the simple saying that
everything will change except 'change'
When I gaze through the long avenue of rushing time
I would like to tell you the truth
that there will be a day;
a day for ultimate answer of the basic question,
a day for realization of your long cherished dream.
To reach the dawn of independence
we can gather words
and gather earnest efforts.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Oh, Shangri-la...
I can see your villagers, yak herds
I catch a glimpse of your nomads;
they wear colorful sheepskin dress.
I am dreaming you,
in that dreams....
my heart delighted with
the abundant beauty of your misty mountains.
I felt the unbounded placidity
of the fascinating vast verdant lands.
Really I am fond of you Shangri-la?
Oh, people of Tibet...
You are peculiar on the earth who like to handover
the nature unhurt to coming generation.
You firmly believe that
all living beings on the earth deserve
their share of the nature's bounty.
Your wise perception and way of life
are always going in one way.
But, more than five decades
you have been bound by injustice;
it wretched your humble lives
and defiled the habitat of the living beings.
I can see the sorrowful eyes;
searching someone in the desert of unrest
severe burning of your soul also burnt my heart,
the only word of solace for your broken heart:
Rangzen, Rangzen, Rangzen.
