When your view is so fulfilling,
the shoulder blades of kanchenzeunga swimming between your prayers
and the depth of my palms hugging teesta
will not stop for conceitedness.
Rang sem rangi tawa
Black ribbons twisted into fine braids and,
from the rubber bands,
the sprouting water fall falling just above the waist
will not pause for words like these.
On Sunday,
When I went to the grave,
I picked up a black shovel
to dig out all of the vision you were starving for,
but I still had a handful yet.
In March,
Sikkim was so glorious
that its footsteps already knew to sashay with the flags.
So I apologize,
I cannot watch my own mind.
I cannot do something I do all the time.
My mind is so foreign.
I’m afraid.
I do not have my gears for exploring
space.
Rang sem rangi tawa,
I will watch the world,
and the world will watch me watching.