About the Owl
By Kuchuk Ngonmo

At night, at night when all falls into the mud of dreams,
It is only the owl who is now caretaker of the night.
He hoots again and again into the deep of the darkness.
He hoots for our tomorrow,
For the warm sun of tomorrow.

But you can’t see,
You really can’t see,
A high and majestic snow mountain stands tall in the owl’s mind,
A clear and pure lake laps the shores of the owl’s mind.

For the kingdom beneath the blue sky,
Long ago the owl lost his happiness,
Long ago forgot his attachment.
Each morning that the green grasses are refused sunlight,
The owl tortures himself with intent.

The owl sleeping in his bed each morning
Is not due to his blindness or any other cause
But the fulfillment of his wishes.
Do we not have sunlight?
Do we not have an environment saturated with sunlight?

The host of stars that shine blurrily are the owl’s friends in sorrow.
When the owl lands high up the mountain
And spends the night with the stars,
Even in winter, the cold that settles cannot chill him,
Even in summer, the hurricane rises but cannot carry him.

Even though the owl has no flight skills like the eagle’s,
When he flies, he flies on suffering,
With anguish from the ashes of wild yaks scattered on the edges of his wings.
But he has been cursed and spat on for some time now.

Even though magpies who only know how to make nests,
Woodpeckers who only know how to peck at trees
And eagles who only know how to guard cliffs
May claim themselves to be divine and great birds,
Who can live in the night besides the owl?

If it is not possible for the universal darkness that covers earth and space to disappear,
It is also not possible for the owl to age, for his dreams to age.
Isn’t that because the owl can see darkness
While you can see only the light and nothing else?

The original link: http://www.gdqpzhx.com/bo/html/literature/2009/05/12/108/

(Translated by Tenzin Dickyi and Dhondup Tashi Rekjong)

My Wife Has Gone to Sleep, I am Writing a Poem
By Druk Lhagyal

My wife has gone to sleep she is dreaming a dream
And her dream moves me
My poem and the night

I wear this quiet silence of night and
Hold to my chest these various terms
Terms with hot heat and soft freeze
And I think

Is there anything else to follow
The day’s fatigue since there isn’t
It is past time for me to sleep but
Perhaps snow is falling in my hometown
How my cousins must be cold
So lighting up one cigarette
I think

Her dream might very sweet
Sunlight green grass milk and curd lambs and such
If only I could also take my rest and sing songs in that place
And knit a hat out of flowers
So taking a sip of liquor
I think

This midnight moon slowly
Weaves my poem and her dream and
Offers them to tomorrow
My wife has gone to sleep
I am writing a poem

The original link: http://www.gdqpzhx.com/bo/html/literature/201104061023.html

(Translated by Tenzin Dickyi and Dhondup Tashi Rekjong)

From Lhasa
By Meri

From Lhasa
The space of my poetry is left behind
The color of the world is left behind
Freedom is left behind, the sound of songs is left behind

From Lhasa

I left behind the power of life, connected through the thirty letters 

The truth of history that Potala left me is left behind
Pain is left behind, the sorrow of remembrance is left behind

From Lhasa

Yogi Tshangyang’s anguished wishes are left behind

The skillful courage of the seven wise men of antiquity is left behind 

Heroism is left behind, integrity is left behind

From Lhasa

Gendun Chophel’s truth to fight the world is left behind

The tongue of the alphabet is left behind

From Lhasa

I even left behind a girl called Dolma’s tears of love
My mind is left behind, my backward look is left behind

The original link: http://www.tbnewyouth.com/article/paradise/20100726751.html

(Submitted by Katia La)

A Small Smacking Sound

Today I can’t stand the freezing cold,
Can’t bear to step out of the threshold of my monk’s room.

Settled into a squat,
I sink into my book.

It saddens me to see these villagers
With the same fate tremble with cold.

On the long kora path round the monastery
There’s an old lady. Is she also cold?

In short, all my brothers and sisters,
As they freeze today, so tomorrow they will freeze.

The original link: http://blog.amdotibet.cn/lmgo/archives/76976.aspx

(Translated by Tenzin Dickyi and Dhondup Tashi Rekjong)

The Fast Shadow (A movie script)
By Kyabchen Dedrol

Main actor: A sad looking young man wearing tattered clothing with disordered hair

Ordinary actors: Boss, a nomadic woman, student, gamblers, monks, students
      

Note: Except the scenes at the beginning of the movie, other scenes are all from the actual movie.

 
The main actor holds a piece of paper (he holds the paper in the rest of the scenes) and walks forward with purpose but his steps are not so stable. Only half of his figure is on camera. The background is some buildings and streets but they are not so clear.

  

The main actor opens the door of an office and gently comes in but he has an anxious expression on his face. In the office, a man wearing a neat western suit with a tie says with a loud voice, “Hi young man! As the saying goes, ‘Eat one shoulder of meat at a time, and drink a bottle of liquor at a time,’ we two should have a fine chat. Then I will see how I can help you.” The main actor sits on a chair in the corner of the room and hands the paper to the man and says, “Have you seen him? His name is Tashi.” The man talks a lot but the scene is now captured from a distance and there is no sound.

As the main actor enters another door, there is a nomadic woman wearing a loose robe is crushing empty boxes and stacking them together. Beside her, there is a naked baby with a runny nose. The main actor feels uneasy but he shows her the paper and asks, “Have you ever seen the person on this paper? His name is Tashi.” The nomadic woman says, “No, no” and turns back to continue her work.

  
 

As the main actor nervously pushes open another door, there are a bunch of men playing mahjong in heavy cigarette smoke and making a lot of noise, but as they notice the door open, they all look at him. When he sighs and asks, “Have you seen this man?”, someone points to a man who is playing mahjong (a man with long hair wearing jeans and a Tibetan style shirt) and says, “Is that him?”, and everyone breaks into laughter.



Then again, as he enters another door, a monk is preaching Buddhism to a Chinese woman, a Tibetan businessman and another monk. As he asks the monk, “Have you seen this man?”, the monk asks the Chinese woman next to him in Chinese, “Can you please do my compatriot a favor? Please put a trace for information on Weibo blog.” The Chinese woman politely says, “I will send out the information on Master’s blog. Master has the most fans.”

  

As he enters a house which doesn’t have a door but only a door curtain, inside there are three students. One student is lying on the bed and watching a movie on a computer, and another is smoking and listening to music through an earphone. Another student is playing darts. And yet another one is sleeping and snorting in the bed. There are a few empty liquor bottles beside him. As he asks the students, “Hello everyone! Have you seen this man?”, the student playing darts throws a dart at him and the other student suddenly wakes up. 


There is a laptop computer on top of his desk, and he has fallen asleep in front of it. There is a knock on the door and his wife says in the living room, “My dear, you are here. What has your mother been busy with?” Then a little girl comes into his study and says, “My elder brother asked if you have translated this into English.” She put the paper there and ran out. 
 

He turns on the laptop and reviews the unfinished poem. This is what he has written:
The Fast Shadow
After the sun disappears, you also disappear.
The fast shadow behind is attached to the body.
Inside the shadow, although there might be some attachment or plan,
at the moment when it passes in front of my eyes,
it seems there is nothing, and having nothing also seems like having something.
There is no burden that is heavier than something that is empty.
Since then, as the wind that blows away my soul

As he thinks of how to wrap up the poem, he notices the paper brought by the girl and sees what is written on the paper, ” All the degradation of the world is rooted by ignorance” (By Tsonkapa). He immediately wraps up the poem and starts translating it into English, and the scene ends.

The original link: http://www.tibetcm.com/html/degrol/201208274814.html

What can we write?
By Nodreng

For me, the most difficult thing to write without lies, exaggeration and adornment is about real life.

There are some youth who talk about reading so much, as if they are reciting miktsema prayers, but actually their hand trembles when writing more than a few lines, and they talk so much about “doctrine” and “prophecy” but ignore and disregard social issues and phenomena that so very close to their own lives.
As the saying goes, the old monk doesn’t know the great teachings and doesn’t want the small teachings. Since the beginning, small things are ignored and big things couldn’t be taken on one’s shoulders. Isn’t that the reason our cultural perspectives blur?

It is true that it is good for us to have goals, but it is sad to see people only talking and deceiving themselves. Before talking about great things such as doctrines, I feel like asking the following questions to the youth born after 1980 who always talk about books.

Do you have a good understanding of western philosophy? Are you familiar with oriental religious culture as if it were sitting on your palm? And can you talk about Tibetan history clearly? Have you ever done any research on the Dunhuang manuscripts? Have you ever given any real consideration to the universal values of democracy and freedom?

Although their manner of holding the books of ‘The Golden Rosary” and “Great Treatise on the Stages of the Path to Enlightenment” looks confident, how much do they understand of the meaning?

Sakya Pandita said, “The quality of a horse is judged by its running, and the quality of a scholar is judged by his writing.” I completely agree with his word. Aren’t the types of scholars who resemble noisy roosters who can’t lay eggs the same as armless heroes in traditional speech?

If the people in the writing world can’t talk about big things, why do they laugh when we talk about small things to do with life, environment and social issues? Generally, isn’t it we who cannot do great things who ignore everyday life?

Some business people put poets and scholars in the category of those fools in the market who don’t even know how to eat properly. Those who work with words think of people engaging in business as people without firm stands who would do anything for money.

Likewise, nowadays it is common to see people in the different occupations criticize and look down upon each other; however, each occupation has its own character, value and ups and downs. Why can’t we use our eyes to observe the youth, born after 1980, of other countries and nations?

Do the Tibetan youth born after 1980 understand society well? Are the Tibetan youth born after 1980 prepared to move forward after school? What are the main differences between the groups of youth born after 1980 and those born after 1970?

Anyway, if we the youth born after 1980 who can’t explain doctrines depending on other people’s prophecies talk about social issues that we can see and hear about, why should you laugh and cry?

What can we write? What exactly can we write?

The original link: http://www.tbnewyouth.com/article/show-5/201205071855.html

Kyablo and his Ponytail
By Takbum Gyal

The year Kyablo turned eighteen years old, some people from the provincial seat came to make a film in the county town and saw Kyablo.

That day Kyablo was in the county town because his father sent him to do some shopping. When he saw a crowd of people gathering to watch a film shooting in the courtyard of the County Committee building, he pushed his way up front through the crowd to watch the shooting. When the film stopped shooting, the county secretary, a young man, was about to take them to a meal. At this point, the senior director who was wearing glasses and a visor suddenly saw Kyablo. Once he saw Kyablo, his attention was caught like an archeologist looking at a piece of priceless fossil, and he approached Kyablo.

The senior director came to Kyablo and closely examined his whole body. Then he closely examined Kyablo’s thick and black ponytail and said in Tibetan, “Young man, do you want to be an actor?”

As the stranger suddenly asked him such a question, Kyablo became puzzled, and stood like a motionless image. He asked the stranger, “What is an actor?”

The senior director, as he realized that Kyablo was an ordinary villager, responded with laughter. “Have you seen any films?” Kyablo thought for a while. He remembered that when he was young, some people from the county had come to the village with a cart. At night, they had hung a piece of cloth between two metal poles and showed some action films. All the villagers had gathered and watched the figures on the screen with surprise. Later many of the kids had played games in the sheep pens, pretending to be the enemies and allies from the film. He nodded his head and said, “Yes, I have seen films.”

The senior director nodded and said, “Actors are the people who act as the figures in the films. We have a plan to make a Tibetan film soon, and you are suitable to be an actor. If you want, you will be in the film.”

Why didn’t Kyablo want to be an actor? When he was small he liked to hold a stick and act as his ancestor. People joked that in the future he would become a hero like his ancestor. After thinking for a while, Kyablo looked at the senior director and said, “Will there be spears and knives in the film?” The senior director thought that Kyablo had all the natural characteristics of an actor and he delightedly said, “Yes, there will be. There will be whatever you want.” Then he rolled his eyes and waited for Kyablo’s response.

After giving another thought to the matter, with his eyes showing hesitation and fear, Kyablo asked, “After entering the film, can I come out?” When Kyablo was small, a cadre had brought a radio to the village. Every morning and evening the radio broadcasted news and played songs. The elders from Nakzhar village were astounded and Kyablo heard rumors from the elders. “Bad omen! According to some sayings, there are people the size of thumbs. The person in this radio must be the size of a thumb.”

The senior director laughed and glanced at the young secretary next to him. Then he looked back at Kyablo and said, “You don’t enter into the film. Your body will be recorded in pictures. After that you can return home.” Kyablo was happy to hear this and said, “I want to be an actor.”

The orginal link: http://www.gdqpzhx.com/bo/html/photo/201203051705.html

(Translated by Rebsa)

Size
By Dulha Gyal

When I was living in my hometown,
My hometown was very big.
Looking back at my hometown,
My hometown was very small.

The original link: http://www.gdqpzhx.com/bo/html/photo/2009/12/26/549/

( Translated by Tenzin Dickyi and Dhondup Tashi Rekjong)

Longing for the Deities
By Sakyi Tseta

These days a spring wind is rising under the clouded sky.

In these days when a spring wind is rising, the villagers with bothered and humble eyes complain about someone, curse someone. At the intersection of the city and the street where there are no red mirrors searching with their eyes for the caged birds, the villagers push down their tears of suffering and wish to spit on someone with their lament.

In these days, in these days when a spring wind is rising under the clouded sky,
In every village of Rebkong, arrow bearing hunters multiply, on every street of Rebkong, red traps and black mirrors increase exponentially. The village people, their heads bowed down, are apprehensive of taking a breath. These days if you don’t take care, there are no dharma protectors who can save you.

In these days, in these days when a spring wind is rising under the clouded sky,
In these days when the people of Rebkong stay silently in their homes, where are the deities and dharma protectors that the people have placed in their hearts since the time of their ancestors? Are they disappointed that we can’t take refuge in them? Are they hungry because we can’t make incense offerings? Is this their answer?
Ah, my deities and dharma protectors. Ah.

In these days, in these days when a spring wind is rising under the clouded sky,
The people talk of caterpillar fungus in the day,
And count stars through the window at night.

In these days, in these days when a spring wind is rising under the clouded sky, shoots from the inner depths of the earth give vitality and confidence to someone’s young sun of hope. Now, once more the gorgeous peach blossoms bring to the people’s minds a certain compassionate and youthful face–that face from far far away is brought to mind, is brought to mind.

In these days of fear, in these days of terror,
I long for the deities clad in mourning felt,
I long for Shambala where the villagers have scattered their hopes.

(Translated by Tenzin Dickyi and Dhondup Tashi Rekjong)

Note: This was originally published on Tso Ngonpo (Blue Lake) blog but subsequently taken down.

The Change in My Homeland

by Khawa Lhamo

In the morning, a little girl came running and said, “Sister, please write an essay for me. My teacher told us to write an essay on “the change in our homeland” but I can’t write it.” After I told the little girl that one must do one’s own work and sent her off, I reflected by myself on “the change” in my homeland.

The guard dogs that do not know how to chase wolves
Do not raise their heads at approaching cars
Or their eyes at approaching bicycles.
Seeing a rider on horse or yak,
They chase him through the hills and valleys
As if possessed by ghosts.

A girl related to me who doesn’t know a single Chinese word
Went into the belly of China relying only on sign language as a bride.
On her departure the last words she left with her people were
The men in China are nicer to their women than the men in Tibet.

What did the digging and stripping
Do to the ever flowing stream?
If we need drinking water
We wait day and night in
Long and short lines like rosary beads
For the miners’ water truck.

In our land
A single piece of coal, a stalk of caterpillar fungus has not emerged.
Villages loyal to their land and their animals
Say this is a blessing from the three jewels.
A man related to me who grew rich with mining
Threw an insulting glance and said,
It is right for you nomads to suffer. Was he right?

An uncle who lives near the mine
Stepped into my tent,
Dropped to the ground and said,
Ah, green pastures and clean rivers
This is what the grassland is,
This is how the nomads live,
And swallowed.

What’s more, after the highway
Was laid through the center of the village
Thanks to coal mining,
Sister Dolma’s legs were cut off
Uncle Tenpa’s life was taken
Boy Tharlo was left an orphan.

Can I call the above “the change”
in my homeland?

The original poem in Tibetan can be found at http://www.sangdhor.com/blog_c.asp?id=6307&a=kawa

(Translated by Dhondup Tashi Rekjong and Tenzin Dickyi)

I Want To Sing A Love Song In Dhardo
By Bido Choekyong

Today it rained in Dhardo.
Dhardo is today dissolving in the rain and the crowd,
Dhardo is today submerged in fog,
Dhardo is gripped by Chinese buildings and the Sichuan dialect today.

Dokpo la[1],
Today I not only did not see Dhardo’s past,
I couldn’t even remember it.
I wanted to sing a love song in Dhardo
To the girl with the lively face
Who looks like she could be Chinese,
Whose tongue is used to Chinese,
I want to throw her a glance that is cut off from native tongue and homeland,
I want to sing a love song that is cut off from anxiety and responsibility.

Dhardo la,
Do you mind if,
I bring up the Dhowa horse of the past,
I ask you about yesterday’s years and months
And look for your smell that has now vanished in the fog and cloud?

Yulgyupa la[2],
If I sing a love song in Dhardo
Will you give the name “Love Song of Dhardo”?
Today I have reached Dhardo.
Where has this water that flows in the belly of this land of rock and clay
Taken the Dhardo of years past?
Is it that the water has flowed too long, flowed too wide
And washed away the smell of old Dhardo?
Or was the rain too strong and swallowed Dhardo?

And so Dhardo is no longer the old Dhardo.
And so Dhardo is no longer the Dhardo of history. And so, and so.

Today I want to sing a love song in Dhardo.
Today I want to sing a lament in Dhardo.
It is raining today in Dhardo.
In Dhardo today the fog is settling.

Notes:
[1] Dokpo means “friend”. La is an honorific term of address.
[2] Yulgyupa means “traveler”.

The original link: http://www.tibetcm.com/html/list_22/201210064911.html

(Translated by Dhondup Tashi Rekjong and Tenzin Dickyi)

ALCOHOL AND MAHJONG SPREAD IN THE SNOW LAND

By Yumtso

It goes without saying that everybody, no matter who, wants their nation and country to grow stronger. I believe everyone makes one’s best effort. I also believe that there must be people who like to hear admiration of their nation and dislike hearing insults of their nation. I like hearing about the history of Shangshung, writing about the accomplishments of Songtsen Gampo, obeying Buddhist teachings and writing about the history of the Potala Palace. In short, I like admiring our nation and do not like listening to words that dishonor the nation. If someone talks about the faults of our nation, I treat him or her as an enemy with anger and see him/her as an ignorant person. I never give any consideration to the other person’s perspective. Many other people also behave similarly. However if we think carefully, what we should talk about are indeed the flaws of the nation and the essential problems that need to be solved.

In general, there are countless issues and problems in our snow land nowadays, and solving any of these problems is a very hard task. The sentiment of many red-faced Tibetans is that rather than searching for these problems, it is better to drink alcohol and play mahjong. So, alcohol and mahjong have spread in this snow land. Plying guests with alcohol and mahjong is now seen as the most hospitable way of treating guests. But if you don’t drink or don’t play mahjong, then you are not allowed among the men.

A friend of mine gave me this advice, “Girl, it hasn’t been long since you graduated from school. If you want to have a bright future, you have to know how to drink and how to play mahjong. If you do so, you can make better connections with people.” I didn’t know what to say and I just nodded. I felt an unbearable pain in my heart. They said, “You are welcome here. Did you finish your work? Now let’s play mahjong.” I watched them lose five, ten, one hundred, one thousand, even ten thousand yuan, without any change of expression on their faces. I was surprised to see such boldness. I felt it must be great to have such courage and confidence to do something. If my boss offered me alcohol or someone offered me alcohol to show their gratitude, would I have the courage to say that doing a good job doesn’t require alcohol or to say that I don’t drink? I asked my friend if these parties happen often. He said that in the month, there are no more weekends, everyone is too busy with these parties.

Alcohol and mahjong have really spread in the snow land. These days are the season for digging caterpillar fungus. Azi! One day I saw a gathering and I thought it must be a business of caterpillar fungus, so I walked in that direction. It turned out to be a group of gamblers. During a good season of caterpillar fungus, these people enjoy gambling without any worries.

Indeed, they were gambling with complete relaxation. It was really sad and disappointing. I didn’t want to say big words about the nation. I didn’t want to boast about the motherland. I wanted to say, “You must have wives and children at your homes. For their happiness, please don’t do such things.” However I just stood beside them without saying a word. I felt severe pain and couldn’t say a word. For them, was that a way to express their pain?

Alcohol and mahjong have spread in the snow land. Packages of beer are drunk on the grasslands and farmlands. Bottles of liquor are drunk on the streets and in the squares. Is this another way to express their pain?

Ten, one hundred, one thousand and ten thousand Yuan are spent on mahjong. Cars and houses are lost on mahjong. As all the possessions are lost, they wander the distant areas. Nowadays, alcohol has become the best entertainment for guests and mahjong has become the best gift to offer guests.

If we love our nation, and if we want to do something to contribute to the nation, we should start with drinking less alcohol and playing less mahjong. In general, if anyone has a pain in the heart, it is hard to make someone else understand that pain. If anyone has a secret, it is hard to tell that secret to anyone else. Sometimes, due to complicated reasons, people try to forget the pain and the secrets by enjoying alcohol and mahjong. This is a very normal phenomenon. But this should only happen a few days out of the year, and should never become a habit. Alcohol and mahjong have spread in the snow land. We must consider how to solve this problem, and start by drinking less alcohol and playing less mahjong.

The original link: http://www.sangdhor.com/blog_c.asp?id=4093&a=yeicuo
(Translated by Rabsa)

A Land Dispute with a Black Fly
By Kyabchen Dedrol
After building a new house I was trying focused thinking
When out of nowhere a black fly began showing off
Its wings in front of me.
As I had bought the space in my house with money
I thought the black fly did not own it.
I tried to chase him out the door
But he went here and there
Like a UH-60 American helicopter
Tired me out and broke
The thread of my thoughts.

It looked like he had decided that the space
In my house was his purchased with his money
And the way he pasted himself on the glass resting
Was the way I take my rest from samsara.



Then after sometime, he disappeared.
A whole afternoon, I had to search for him.
In the evening his wingless corpse fell from the curtain.
In fact I had earlier killed him with a swipe of my towel.


When night came it rained without stopping.
My tears mixed with the rain.
The darkness outside seemed firmly made
From the crowding of a hundred million black flies.

The original link:http://www.tibetcm.com/html/degrol/201207154688.html

(Translated by Dhondup Tashi Rekjong and Tenzin Dickyi)

This article was published on the well known Tibetan blog Choemey (Butter Lamp). The piece, published under a penname, concerns social change and shifting family dynamics inside Tibet.

The Bride of the Three Virtues

By Namkha
 
My internet friends may laugh when they first see the title of today’s article. Possibly they haven’t seen this title before. This is a new prize that is becoming popular in Tibetan areas. It reminds me of the time when I worked hard to become a young pioneer at the primary school, and worked hard to become a “student of the three virtues.” The student of the three virtues must be: 1. A good student; 2. Have good discipline; 3. Have good hygiene. The student must have these three virtues.

In the twenty-first century, from this idea of “the student of the three virtues” spread this idea of “the bride of the three virtues” in the snowland, a place devoted to love and compassion and karma. I laughed when I first heard of this, but I also wanted to think on this idea and ask some questions about it.

I asked questions of the girl who was discussing this issue with me. She said, “It in’t about identifying some prize winners as a result of improvement of thoughts and economy. Both in nomadic and farming areas, elderly parents experience a lot of sufferings.” Later I clearly understood the meaning of “the bride of the three virtues.”    

Listen to what she had to say after this. At this point she took a long breath and said, “These days for both nomads and farmers, economic problems have been slightly relieved by the caterpillar fungus. Sons and brides, leaving their children with their elderly parents, go to the county and prefecture towns to hang out. The elderly parents not only take care of the children, but also do house chores and herd the livestock. They don’t come home from the city for a few days. Husbands carelessly waste a few day drinking and playing mahjong. Some brides, disregarding the suffering of the children and the elderly parents, play mahjong and look for lovers.”

Here she stopped speaking. Then she continued in a sad and quiet voice, “Last winter I went home for the New Year. As you know the weather in the nomadic areas is quite cold. I was born on the grassland. In the winter, most of the nomads settle in the town or near it. In many nomadic communities, they don’t have plumbing at home, so they have to carry water in from outside. In winter the place where they draw water is covered with ice, so it is very slippperly. One day, I think just before noon, an elderly man from the community came to my house. He said they needed me to go with him to the town.
  

He said, ‘The old grandma (Name) fell on the ice and broke her leg when she went to fetch water this morning. In fact, the full bucket of water spilled over her, and she nearly died. Fortunately, a bride (Name) from another family noticed and saved her. Otherwise, she would have frozen to death.’
  

This elderly couple have a son and two daughters. The two daughter married into another community. The son is the youngest among them. He is about 35 years old. He is a civil servant in the county. He has an attractive wife, a woman who is very proud of her beautiful skin. The result of leaving their son with the elderly 75-year old mother ripened that morning. The reason the old man wanted me with them was that they wanted someone who can speak Chinese when the grandma was treated at the hospital.
 

My father asked where the son and the bride were, but the the old man said they had gone to the main town for shopping seven or eight days ago. Honestly, the distance between that town and our county town is about one and half hours. Even if they had gone on a motorcycle, they could have reached home in a day. Moreover, there were many cars going back and forth between the county and town.

  
When I hurried there, the old grandma was in a car, covered in a warm blanket. The driver was the son of the old grandma’s younger brother. He was also angry and abusing the the old grandma’s son and bride, ‘The couple’s behavior is always the same. They don’t take care of the parents. They bought an apartment in the county town and they live there.’
   

‘They only visit a few times during the New Year and the holidays. I talked to them a few times. Now the parents are old. If you two stay in county town without caring for the parents, it is hard for them even to get water. Maybe you should take the parents to town to live with you. The son indicated that I should not give him advice.’

‘Since then I dare not say anything, because I know they wouldn’t listen to an illiterate person like me. However, on the one hand, she is my father’s younger sister. On the another hand, his parents are old. It is hard for me to bear it in my heart, every time when I see them.’ As the driver, with some anger, shared the couple’ story, we arrived in the main town. We quickly found the hospital and brought the old grandma inside. 
  

In the hospital, I tried to comfort the grandma and touched her hand, but there was no warmth in her hand. She said, ‘My fate is very sad. I have no reason not to die” and tears fell down from her eyes. Her husband, the old grandpa, had also come to the hospital with their 5 year-old grandson. The grandma asked, ‘Why did you come here? There is no one at home. Who is taking care of the livestock?’ He said a neighbor’s name and said that he would take care of the livestock.
   

 
What we needed then was a person to take care of the old grandma in the hospital, so we had to look for the son and the bride. The driver said, ‘The son must be at the mahjong place, but the bride may be at the apartment’ and went in the direction of the apartment. After a moment, he came back and said, ‘The wife is not in the apartment. It is impossible to guess where she is. I called him many times but his phone was turned off.’ That is true that he called many times while driving. The doctor said, ‘Her (grandma’s) leg is broken and it takes a while to reattach the bone. As she is in her old age, it is hard to recover as easily as a youth, but there is no need to worry.’

The old man who came to call me said, ‘It is certain that we will need a woman in the hospital to take care of the grandma and to help her to the bathroom. We can call the two daughters’ families and clearly explain the situation.’ I strongly agreed with this idea. I had wondered about how well the son’s bride might care for the grandma. At that moment, the grandma’s nephew said, ‘Let’s go eat.’ 
  

The old grandpa stayed in the hospital, and we took the grandson with us. One the way to the restaurant, the driver asked someone where we could find the son and the bride. Someone said he didn’t know about the son but said the wife was in a restaurant and gave us the name. When we arrived there, she was enjoying a meal with some civil servants from the county and her face was full of smiles. Once she saw us, she looked a bit uneasy. 
 

I knew the driver was very angry. His face had become very red. However, he controlled his anger and explained what had happened to the grandma. He also said they had been looking for her and her husband. 
 
 
She said she didn’t know where her husband was. She left her son and walked out of the restaurant. It seems we were all aware that the 70 year-old grandma wouldn’t die this time, so everyone felt very relieved. Everyone said they were hungry now. After everyone ate something they liked, we took some food for the elderly couple and went to the hospital. The bride was on a phone call with someone. After about an hour, the son appeared. His two eyes were very red. To us it looked like he was very tired. Once his father saw him he got very angry. 
  

The father was so angry he couldn’t even speak. The dishonest son started to say, ‘I went to the prefecture town to run some errands for my bureau. My phone battery died.’ Pointing his finger at his wife, he said, ‘I told you to go back to the town. You told me you would go that afternoon.’ At that, the wife also became angry and said, ‘If it’s ok for you to look for Chinese prostitutes and wander the streets like a homeless dog, why can’t I look for lovers?’ They pulled out all their dirty secrets in front of the parents. I was embarrassed and didn’t know what to say, so I went to ask the doctor about the patient’s condition.
  

Such things have happened and are happening in both the nomad and farming areas. Actually, there are many cases of parents being abandoned by sons and brides. Because of this, to ensure that the son and the bride would take care of the parents, they established this prize for “the bride of the three virtues” in every village. There are three criteria for “a bride of the three virtues:” 1. She must take good care of the parents; 2. She must have a good relationship with the villagers and neighbors; 3. She must be a good worker.

The brides who meet these three criteria are awarded with jewelry and material for felt and silk clothes. No matter how much we Tibetans talk about love and compassion and karma, now we have to pay money to purchase care for our parents. In order to gain the prize and the reputation of being virtuous, many brides compete. If parents are taken good care of afterwards, it is great but truly this is uncertain.”


At this point, she laughed and said, “So this is how things are like in my hometown.”
Really, when I first heard the name of “the bride of the three virtues,” I broke into laughter. In a hopeless situation however, it is a good idea. I asked her again, “Are there are any such cases of people treating parents like this in your current home of Xining?” She said, “I haven’t seen this nowadays, but this may happen during holidays. I haven’t seen it like before but I have heard about it. A Tibetan government employee brought her mother to Xining for a few days. No one knew where he was, but everyone says his wife left the mother outside for the whole night, so the mother froze to death. That was during winter. I have seen the wife, but I don’t know her.”
Now our stories were finished. My internet friends may trust in her words. I apologize for not giving you the location and people’s names. I haven’t asked my friend’s permission to write down our conversation, so I also apologize to her. 
  

The original link: http://www.tibetcm.com/html/list_03/201209024830.html

(Translated by Rabsa)

The Present of the Past
By Ngarma

Only twenty three and I have a mountain range of regret.
What is this? What is this?

From the door I invite a drop of light.
The dust particles
Assemble here.

The tea has long grown cold.
Much that has cooled cannot be warmed again.

The various incomplete drawings cannot be erased.
Like these unfinished works which cannot be forgotten,
I broke the three un-crooked arrows on the clock,
Messed up the twelve numbers.
In the mirror, I did not show myself the wrinkles on my forehead.

A vehicle,
Dragging a tail of black smoke,
Rushes east in the morning,
And returns west in the evening.

Near the highway
I see a couple kissing happily,
And I see in my mind,
Not my past but their future.

Only dreams plumb the mind’s depths.
The mind that forgets
Makes me light as a feather.

One day, when you see me flying, that is an illusion,
But another carrying me, that is real.

My hair fell and grew.
My eyes popped out of the dark.

As the thorn-bird loves the thorn,
So I love the world.

My steps grow smaller,
My body bends down.
One by one, I forget the names written
On the letter in the desk in front of me.

Those brought away by the guardians of the dead must be dead,
I have not received any response from my friends.
In another place, at another time,
In a smoke-filled bar, they are discussing
Country and neighbor, and likely
Complaining about my late arrival.

The darkness is like closely laid dark bricks.
I recognize everywhere as my home,
And in my home, there is no fire even in winter,
No flowers even in summer.

The various objects in the distance
Burn in the distance.
In the same way that images I can see
Have an essence,
So my birth, my growth, my sickness and my death
Have an essence that is interlinked.

What is the connection between
The smell and sound that no organ can touch
Which collapses and scatters,
And the root of the soul which scatters?
What is the connection between my soul
And the clouds that glide overhead?

The owl moving in the armpit of night
Landed on the wingtips of fluorescent lights.
The town is the inner heart of chaos.

I have given many days and nights
To the streets and shops and bookstores.
Opening an old door with an old key from my front pocket,
On an old bed I dreamed old dreams.
The news is today’s but I feel like yesterday.

Now even one hour is like
A single rosary bead difficult to move.
To roll my thumb is all the duty I can manage.

Now there can be an afterlife,
Or there can not be afterlife.

The original link: http://www.gdqpzhx.com/bo/html/photo/201108081306.html
(Translated by Tenzin Dickyi and Dhondup Tashi Rekjong)