Tashi Rabten’s sentence, and his poetry

The Chinese government has sentenced Tashi Rabten to a 4-year prison term, following a closed-door trial. His crime? Writing poetry and being the editor of a literary magazine known as “Shar Dungri” (Eastern Snow Mountain). Below are some poems by Tashi Rabten (pen name: Theurang) published in his book “Written in Blood,” translated from the Tibetan by Bhuchung D. Sonam.

My Tibet
 
Is it you, the flame that burns in the middle of a storm?
Is it you, the boat that rocks in the sea?
Is it also you, who offers the torch of life in the darkness of night?
 
Is it you, where there is no freedom?
Is it also you, who is chained and shackled?
Is it you, who writes history in blood?
 
Are you a warrior?
Where are your battlefield and the weapons?
Are you a prisoner?
What crimes have you committed?
 
Is it your sky that the sun shies away from?
Is it your vow to let yourself be silent?
Are these your border guards, the long guns surrounding you?
 
Freedom is different from restrictions
Because of which you move,
Because of which they tie and bind you, isn’t it?
 
Isn’t it you who is being murdered?
Isn’t it you who is being arrested?
Isn’t it you who is being tortured?
Why is it that you still want to move?
Do you want to move amidst shadows of guns?
 
No.
 
Isn’t it you who can never be cowed down?
Isn’t it you who fiercely burns with passion?
Isn’t it you who marches ahead into history?
 
Don’t you need to move even more?
Don’t you need to move till the time runs out and the life ends?
 
 
Lhasa-Gormo Railway
 
This is a road
A recently-completed road
A road that is well traveled
A road of rock mixed with steel, men with demons
A road connecting Beijing and Lhasa
 
Holy Lhasa is at one end of the road having old dreams
At the other end is Beijing, reading an incomplete plan of action
Between Lhasa and Beijing, this road
Runs like a tongue of a poisonous snake
 
On this road
The life-soul of Lhasa and its wealth
Is being transported, day and night
Nearby this road
Are terrified wild animals of Tibet
Running, running, dying, dying
 
This road, like the butcher’s knife,
Drills through the hearts of the mountains
This road, like an axe in the robber’s hand,
Cuts across the chest of Tibet’s grassland
 
On this road they come, the guests with greedy minds
On this road they run away with the hosts’ wealth
At the end of this road are the satisfied faces of the bosses in Beijing
At the other end are dusty faces of the people of Lhasa
 
In the night this road kills my quiet dreams and my sleep
In the daytime it murders my thoughts and drives me restless
Every so often this road boils my heart with anger
 
Suddenly I Remembered Lhasa
 
The sound and the vibration of the train
Suddenly shakes the computer
And the fingers do not have control over the words
 
At such times I suddenly, suddenly
At the end of the railway track
With a moving train
I remember Lhasa
The statues and butter lamps of Tsuglakhang
The golden roofs of the Potala Palace
Even the faces of the old women on the road
Flashes like the computer facing me
Anyone remembers them
With sounds of trains coming and going
 
Ah how remembering Lhasa suddenly
Is like remembering to get up
And shout out in freedom.
 
 
A Secret Petition to the Government Penned in a Computer
 
One dead body, ten dead bodies, one hundred dead bodies, one thousand dead bodies
One news, ten news, one hundred news, one thousand news
truth – 0, false – 9, truth – 20, false – 900
Red hands that take out the innards
If you are not on our side punish us
Black boots that crush heads
If you don’t understand then just imprison
 
freedom, harmony, equality, democracy
open the door, open the constitution and look inside
freedom? harmony? equality? democracy?
 
My government, if you suspect that your faces will burn with brightness
Accuse me of everything and punish me
Because I am your citizen,
Like a bird that flocks to the cliffs
I am a loyal citizen who will say ‘yes’ to everything you say.
 
Monologue In Hell
 
First
Today, if the radiant hands scratch the face of darkness
Tomorrow, will the world of dawn lift from amidst the darkness
 
Two
If a few ready-to-gallop horses
Went missing along with their saddles and reins
Is there any horse owner who is ready to point at the thief?
 
Three
If a well-planned wolf jumps onto the shepherd’s dog
The unarmed shepherd, of course, can loudly shout out everywhere
 
Four
Don’t lie when the ears are listening to the truth
When the able eyes are watching do not create disharmony
The people are watching you, even the natural world is sighing at you
 
Fifth
Even though I do not own the five physical senses
And the five meanings and six vessels are stolen
I permanently own the five pure visions of the senses
 
Sixth
Long live freedom, long live nationality
Long live truth, love live democracy
Long live the blood that runs in my veins
Long live! Long live!
 

Prisoner in Hell
 
Hell is a fortress made from iron and steel
A doorless fortress of shackles and handcuffs
 
Freedom-loving people are the prisoners of this fortress
Or they are criminals seeing the darkness of the hell
These people have fallen to the darkness of hell wanting to see freedom
 
They are the ones who blew vapour from their mouths outside the door
They are the ones who raised their fists up in the air
 
However, according to the decree from the hell
Each of them are considered criminals in prison shackled and handcuffed
The crime they are accused of is ‘love for freedom’
 
Mother says amongst the prisoners is
A very young kid brother of mine
The youngest prisoner in the world
 
If the crime that this kid has committed is not made
When he was piling stones to play with
Then this kid is truly an innocent kid
 
Freedom, equality, democracy, livelihood
One prisoner, two prisoners, three prisoners, four prisoners
 
Hell is really a hell
Freedom, equality, democracy, livelihood
Will there come a time when everyone will be free from the fortress of hell
 
 
News from Hell
 
Because of intense cold wind in hell
Those in hell experience disturbance in the temperature
Many in hell suffer from diseases
 
Yet, the news from hell is always fine and good
 
The news from hell is a newspaper
A newspaper that has lost the word ‘democracy’
A newspaper filled with secret numbers and —
 
Under the volatile weather of the hell
The hell’s news comes as a medical prescription to those who are suffering from cold
Prescription that charges money but gives no medicine
A prescription with stamp of approval from the authorities
 
News from the hell is contagious
That is transmitted through people’s mouths and ears
Those who suffer from this disease are servants in the hell 
 
The hell is basically a sick person carrying his shit in his pants
Isn’t the newspaper in hell that paper which one uses to wipe one’s bottom?



2 Responsesto “Tashi Rabten’s sentence, and his poetry”

1. David Jenkins says:

   June 19, 2011 at 4:32 am

   God bless you Tashi, David Jenkins
2. Denyse Mosha says:

   November 10, 2011 at 10:39 am

   Absolutely. I’ll do my best. econmancer (at) gmail (dot) com