Tawang

The sad town glows

for one last time of the day;

and I wonder what do these people think

 

of us, of our evenings, of our cities

that glow from dusk till dawn

of places where the lights never sink.

 

The hotel owners and rice makers

will soon prepare for bed

at such early evening hours

 

Would they be cozy and content?

I imagine

Or do they secretly lust after the bright urban towers?

 

The kids of this town know how to sell their thenthuk

or carve up a yak

or sell local liquor cans for a barrel’s worth

‘

But in the freezing cold of the mountains,

are they really happy doing this?

Or do they yearn the plains with a scorched earth?

 

I feel funny for a moment

Am I wondering too much

about these people and the handful things they’ve got?

 

Or does it make sense?

I believe it’s all too little; they may not be content

and I believe it because just in two days, I am not.