I sing to stimulate with herculean song,

Imbued by the thoughts of miracle's chord,

To engrave, Carol of mine in verse along,

To be amaranth, so long as eyes can behold.

I am young and old, a child and man with elated face,

Foolish as much as wise with heartless will,

With immense glee and essence in race,

Blessed to be born in the Himalaya's hill.

Teaching was of my taste, the core of my life,

Thus I dwell in the heart of my students move,

I do love, loved once with bitter feud of life,

And outworn enough glory of such tragic love,

Summer lease is my life with darting buds of May,

Vicissitudes of life extremely strikes me,

Punctuated with the joys and sorrows, are my days,

Yet destiny had no intention to be kind ot me.

Gamble doesn't kill my time and fascinate indeed,

Consequently, I become God fearing one in million,

Thus, morning by morning I thank him for his deeds,

Sing song of my soul to cherish the hearts of billion.

In the proverbial land of hidden treasure,

Where people are fairly blessed with happiness,

Circled by beauteous glory and reversence

By the art of heaven and ordains of divine,

Gave birth to enigmatic and visionary kings,

Who do brave deeds till light and life are gone.

The maker of might, the father of deed,

Dedicated their heart and soul to people's need

With hallmark of simplicity and humanity,

Touch the heart of the poorest and lowest.

To feed people with peace and prosperity,

Fought bravely and settled glory underneath.

Oh! Noblest of the noble, wisest of the wise,

Thou art eternal father, the guard of Drukyul.

I pray thee, my noblest captains of Drukship,

Sail in the sea of glory, beyond human thoughts,

Let every shore know the pearls of integrity, and,

Let it bring home the treasure of perpetual happiness.

'Tis the middle of a dark and bleak night,

When gray pall corrupted the darken sight.

The moon in gloomy bright and dull,

No owl nor mighty did ever chant in full.

The night is dark and the town quiet,

The fairest yewong is in glittering robe of white.

In her waking dream, she went walking alone,

She in pursuit of unheard melodies of loud and long.

Of her father's death and mother's doom,

With her voice sharp and sweet in gloomy.

Gliding doth in bare foot through shrubby floor,

With tender heart yewong reached temple's door.

With dale of tears deep in her eyes,

Knelt down the feet of god at a snail's pace

Prayeth she the creed in poetic pain,

Like hopeless minstrel with her strain.

Alas! Quoth she: I wonder, how in the tomb ye lie,

Yet, With thine love alive, keep me like princess alias.

Your tot the last race of our clan in pang,

Beseech every god to rescue thy hang.

In every prayer I make to Eve,

Thanking you, for giving life by which I live.

Now in my heart I perceive your might,

And I promise to make it proudest and bright.

And I pray, in heaven we all shall meet,

As well as others, to regain our broken fate.

In pain she faintly wiped her moist brow,

From the floor where on she toiled up and paced for.

Away from the temple she marched in chill,

And in midnight dark near her mother's mill.

In forlorn she groaned without a word spelled,

And stole her way graciously to her cell.

Beneath their portrait in her breath aloud,

yewong in silence made her last wish in world.

And in heartless mood, sprawled in her staid bed,

Thus to dream and to dream of their clueless death.