Somewhere far from source and resource

A black river flows

Twisting and turning all along the thoracic cavity

To join the brimming artery

The ego in full spate

And if at times

It chokes in its course

Forecasting a fiasco

The ego as tough as toad

Croak to continuity

And then the faith of me and mine

Will tumble down one day

Into that river of rancor

To the secret tune

Of an absent self


Yet, we’re in the dupe of

An ego so convincing

So exact as the sleazy politician

Endlessly making bogus promises

Whilst there’s nothing at all

An inevitable chameleon

Is what we really are


To be egoless

As ego whispers to us

Is to lose all

All benefits of love, romance,

Bossiness or nosiness

It is exactly to be

Reduced to a remnant of a cup of tea

And then true benefits of love emerge

To fill hearts with the harmony of sacred energy



A Himalayan girl


Even in a huff

A Himalayan girl hums

No noisy or eerie expression emerge

From the screen of the channel of peace

The acidity of her arteries, but mingles

In the thick of music up here

And her heart full of hurls heard

Only in the lyrics of her song


Such is the will of the Lord

Such is the echo of the place she grew up

Such is the soul of a Himalayan girl


Full thirty winters

I’m alive on your lap, O Khangchendzonga

Alive with your inspiration

I learnt all of love, beauty and mercy

All of climbs and falls, toils and sweats

From you, O saviour of my clan

And still, the path to loud words untraced

The footprints of yaks, lead me only to musings


I muse over the showers in the forest

I hear the green birds sing

I smell the ripe corns as I travel with Teesta

I perceive the whispers of the wind

Even the clashes of clouds and the far-off bawl of farmers

Even then, I know not the path to loud words


Such is the will of the Lord

Such is the echo of the place she grew up

Such is the soul of a Himalayan girl



…When caught in a traffic jam


The taxi-ridden streets of Gangtok

Lie numb and dumb

The drivers’ focus condense into frost

As new cops voluntarily shrug

Sound together with stroke and straight as scythe


The whistle as hard as the siren

Pierces into the ears of the deaf

Their eyes rove into the blue book

Others just flash past


In retort to this rapport

Cops give a rap

In a town redolent of love and trust,

Under the roasting sun that reflect

The eyes of the looted


Yet, men love the racy description

Of a Gangtok taxi driver

And even if a ragamuffin

They listen to the raillery of so good a raconteur

Once trapped in a traffic jam. 


A journalist and a poet, Yishey Doma was born in Martam in the east district of Sikkim. Her published works include the highly acclaimed coffee table book Sikkim: The Hidden Fruitful Valley and other books like Legends of the Lepchas: Folktales from Sikkim and Sikkim: A Traveller's Companion. Her work has also been anthologized in Strangers Notes and Other Essays. She is a recipient of the first North-East Poetry Award (Guwahati, 2007) from the Poetry Society of India. Yishey lives in Gangtok and works as a copy editor for the Sikkim Express.