|Mad in States|
Live the life you love, not love the life you live. Many of us dream of going to or living in American and Australia; some prosperous have a chance. A Bhutanese in States has become an American. He has forgotten his country’s traditions and cultures, even language and his own country. The poem asks if everyone does like this one day everyone in Bhutan will become American, losing real Bhutanese, or who is a Bhutanese?
To be an American
Is an easy to be;
It was a decade ago, he settled
In the land called ‘flowery life.’
A dream of every Bhutanese,
But a few fulfilled and some more than it.
He was born to an Ngalop’s family
Brought up, educated and survived
Upto fifty seven years,
A man has a wish at this age!
His instinct and roots were Bhutanese
And all his ways
One day, but, somehow he got a chance,
After decades in America
He adapted Americans
He was an American.
Parents, relatives, all forgotten;
Mother’s language, religions,
All ways, forgotten.
‘New age,’ where he lives
He floats there
Lingering in-between two ways
He is more incline to later one.
Bhutan does not exist in his mind’s map,
This is how a person change his life
Who am I?
Root does change.
On the tip of Americans’ mouth
He remains a different,
not a ‘real’ one;
Mongoliod, Dravidian, or Arabian?
Variant cultures in America
And the buoyant life floated with riches.
One does care,
And who cares of life-
To have rushing hour is okay.