Mine is a repository, swallowing the night,
Dark brazen and like a dove’s wing
Flutter to loosen the thread of time
Glacier at Rama melts, the east ridge trek,
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Wonderful portrayal of a difficult terrain and an equally hard life of native people but with a unique culture. I quote from the poem: Of lately I knew they have little stories / Littered in boxes of wooden rooms /....And sadness written on every face,
...Of lately I knew they have little stories, Littered in boxes of wooden rooms, Still empty for the hibernation of severity...But the goose tail like sunrays depending, And sadness written on every face... Oh, these and the totality of this poem, they and the images conveyed are painted with some feelings of the past, the present, and future.