The boy monks of Gangtok

In these hills they spoke mostly
Of frank-innocence, myrrh ,camphor
A white smoke curling to heavens
A hollow echo in layers of hills
Like rumble of the first thunder.

Boys are not boys,not even men
Just tiny gods scampering on hills
In search of Big God, in sacrifice.
A red apparel is like the sun god
Intensely burning in standing trees.

Innocence is at stake, in cricket
And ludo,a game of dice and chance
A flicker of smile, a wave of mirth
Surging in the hills like a stream,
Freshness traded for Big Knowledge.

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