In exile

Walking in the mist, you wonder
Is this the stuff or dreams or nightmares?
How many who lay here
carried the dream of a Free Tibet?
Waking to a past, untouched by
the mystics of the dreamcatcher
The grief, walking side by side
On winding roads of this land,
still foreign after all these years
Where the Lhamo is reduced to caricatures
In buildings erected to preserve,
A way of life,
as broken and in ruins
As the Kangra Fort a distance away,
Why do we have these windows?
Is it to get a glimpse of the world in?
Or for us to look out?
In another life,
Would it show me a musical?
Us laughing and smiling
Like the couple the other day,
Sharing eggs and potatoes
Soaking in the mist,
Breathing in the mountain air,
Not building rickety bridges, forever,
To walk the lonely feet,
Headless,
A ghost.