at dochula pass we holler together

we three thinley, jigme and me

Hegyelo! the gods prevail!

thus we hail

the Himalyan wall

that’s said to keep

the demons out

by divine decree

 

even as one hundred and eight stupas

commemorate the human forces at work

the fourth king’s bloody defence

of independent borders

to secure a net result of

gross national happiness

 

past dochula the path descends through cypress

we stop to snap a shy Gray Langur in the trees

Kuzo Zangpo La! Good to meet!

thus we greet

the annual cavalcade

of abbot chief

having blest and left

vacating his winter seat

 

near sunset our roads unite at Punakha 

where with the help of friends and strangers

we unfurl what we have carried all this day

and hoist upon suspension bridge

above father’s river* the wafting prayers

of one hundred and eight sutras

 

 

 

 

 

*Po Chhu: the father river