She was caught

in the cellar

and brought

during the night stellar

into a place as cold and distant as her home

in snow they were to roam

they wanted to hurt her first

but ended up satisfying her hunger and thirst

she was too tender

and so avoided the offender

wrapped inside the blanket

breeze whistling outside the tent

reminded her nobody knew was she absent

“Could I write poetry, please?”

She asked but was required stories

inside the temple’s gates

but it wasn’t the worst fate

to have vegetables on your plate

and an enemy turned into a soul mate

in a place where you could meditate and contemplate

She told a story

of independence and glory

She told about a nation

enjoying free education

her words raining down like irrigation

In Tibetan language she had it printed and pressed

that the language and written word shouldn’t be oppressed