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I'm supposed
To take life seriously

To make commitments
And plans

To think about the future
And set goals
And on on and on

And care about money

And I think it is just
A bunch of *******

I liked that documentary
About the guys
Who went to ride
Their unicycles
In Bhutan

They rode down
The stone stairs
Of mountain trails

They met with the woman
Before they journeyed
High into the mountains
Of Eastern Bhutan

She told them of the Yeti
And that they would feel
His presence there

She said it would be best
If they did not see him

But they might encounter him
Because the Yeti
Had never seen
A unicycle before

I think it would be fun
If they taught the Yeti
How to ride the unicycle
Just as they were
Teaching the local villagers

Afghanistan needs hellopoetry
Albania needs hellopoetry
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The Bahamas needs hellopoetry
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Congo, Republic is in need of hellopoetry  
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Denmark needs hellopoetry  
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Dominican Republic needs hellopoetry

East Timor (Timor-Leste) needs hellopoetry
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Myanmar (Burma) needs hellopoetry

Namibia needs hellopoetry
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Saint Kitts and Nevis needs hellopoetry
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Yemen needs hellopoetry

Zambia needs hellopoetry
Zimbabwe needs hellopoetry

Oh, my stoic... whatever happened to you?

At 6'4 you could stare down anyone in the room with your stern dark eyes. People might take you for melancholy until you told one joke with your deadpan humor. But you were a little morose, in your own way... is it because you're a Cancer? Or were you searching for something that only your mind could find for you? I never knew. Stoic and enigmatic are **** near the same thing, after all.

You, with your hundred dollar jeans worn after your yuppie yoga classes. You might not have worn Converse sneakers or thick-rimmed glasses (thank God)... but don't think I didn't see those expensive flannel shirts from Nordstrom's in your closet. Is there such thing as a hipster fashionista...fashionisto? I remember you approved of my Lucky brand jeans. They were a gift. Hand-me-downs. I didn't tell you that.

How elegant that you would grab Moroccan mint tea when coffee was no longer your thing. Sure, you'd down so much wine after dinner I'd worry you an alcoholic... but caffeine? Something about not liking dependence, you said. I savored watching you drink tea when we'd work side-by-side in some of the city's independent coffee houses. You wouldn't be caught dead in a Starbucks.

I do hope you make your amazing Turkish coffee, if only for your next love. Did I say "love?" No... maybe your next tryst. That's more your speed. I still can't taste cardamom without thinking of you.

And oh, your guitar... you'd strum the chords as if you were solving a riddle: quiet, to yourself. Leave the simple "Wonderwall" for neophytes because you could play Django Reinhardt. Unsurprising that a person like you would have a music performance degree from New York University. Every note you played was expensive. And you knew it.

It wasn't just the way you strummed Spanish flamenco while I made us quinoa stuffed squash in your small kitchen. You had to play the cool music before it was cool--nothing so trite as Vampire Weekend or Kings of Leon; only the sweet whispers of Priscilla Ahn for your sensitive ears. I'd desperately try recalling obscure artists from my college days and try to keep up. Album Leaf? Mirah? I got a half smile mentioning Bela Fleck.

Do you remember, how we'd smoke hookah on your soft leather couch? I'd read your book aloud on tantric Buddhism as you'd light the candles. Once the room filled of cinnamon, we'd inhale exotic rose-flavored tobacco and watch documentaries imploring us to free Tibet.

Even your ******* name was exotic; foreign. My mother didn't like it, you know... she worried a man like you would always be patriarchal.

It didn't matter that your days were spent wondering if your law degree was worth it; because you had other dreams. Dreams of foreign service and pro bono nonprofits.

But somewhere in the planning of those dreams, we fell out of touch.

You ended it. I knew you would.

In the worst of my thoughts, I assumed you ended it to find a woman who was everything I'm not, but who I desperately wanted to be. She'd be an international human rights lawyer. A yoga teacher. She'd take yearly trips to hike the Grand Canyon and go on meditation retreats in Bhutan.

2 years later, I've moved on. I won't need 2 glasses of wine to feel comfortable in your presence (as I once did). I've found someone else; we're happily married. He'll never have your enigma, but he lets me in his world. It's not a world of Ghirardelli hot chocolate on winter nights, obscure records and hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese restaurants. But he encompasses everything I needed that you couldn't give: warmth.

I hope you're well, my stoic sophisticate.

In 1972, the Fourth Dragon King of Bhutan created the concept of Gross National Happiness, a new index measuring different areas of life quality. He said, “the essence of the philosophy of Gross National Happiness is the peace and happiness of our people, and the security and sovereignty of the nation.”

The Dragon King was brave with his wisdom. He spoke the truth against the prevailing myth of our time. He dared to ask questions sage in their foundations. What does it mean to live a fulfilling life? What does a successful community look like? How do we answer these questions knowing what we know about our own humanity?

Asking those questions was like coming home again from the rain, and wondering why you had ever left. An act in response to the desperate yearning to be human. A truth so clear, it has been embraced by dozens of other countries.

But not by the United States of America. We are big, and we influence others, not the other way around. We are powerful, and everyone knows it. We are successful, and we know it.

We worship, and ask, and measure the things that matter.

As Adam Smith said, “No society can surely be flourishing and happy of which by far the greater part of the numbers are poor and miserable.”

We measure the things that matter.

What is the essence of the philosophy behind Gross National Product? In the words of Robert Kennedy, “It measures everything in short, except that which makes life worthwhile.”

We have defined success by that which we are able to hold in our hands. We have done so to our very core. We have done so to our most vulnerable. We have done so to our most educated.

In 2011, Amy Chua (the Tiger Mom), laid a truth so bare we could not look away. By her own admission, her tough tactics were simplified and misunderstood: “If I could push a magic button and choose either happiness or success for my children, I’d choose happiness in a second.”

The Tiger Mom would choose happiness for her children, and yet they still would not be successful.

We like to pretend that we don’t play this game, but she played so fervently, we could not look away. We like to pretend that perfect SAT scores, endless club affiliations, mastery of languages and instruments, athletic prowess, social grace, and an unwavering commitment to the community—that those things come naturally from the pursuit of a well-balanced, genuine teenage life. We like to pretend that we are not Excellent Sheep.

But we believe that we measure the things that matter.

From the Stanford-Binet IQ, to the Army Alpha Test, to the first ever SAT in 1926 we have used our creative engines to reduce our humanity to the likes of a No. 2 pencil. After the 1936 invention of the IBM 805—the first electronic test scanner—we would ever more become distinctive only in our conformity.

Uniform in our goals and our language, and everything else that comes in between. Echoed again and again, Bill & Melinda say, success in education is to obtain labor-market value. At least we’re honest about that. What other kinds of success could we imagine without other kinds of values? There is no magic button, there is only the stark white wall of reality that will hit you, hard, when you’re 16 or 18 or 22. And you better be prepared.

But did you know that statistically people are equally as happy one year after winning the lottery as they are one year after becoming paraplegic? Despite our 3lbs brains and large prefrontal cortexes, we are not good at imagining the conditions of our own contentment. We are only good at imagining the future of the stark white wall and the non-existence of the magic button.

Maybe, then, before we imagine anymore, we need to remember. To remember what it’s like to come home again from the rain, and wonder why you had ever left.  Maybe, then, we can finally be brave, and ask, like the Fourth Dragon King of Bhutan, What is the root of the root and the bud of the bud?

Maybe, then, we will measure the things that matter.

Fashion designer Manav Gangwani feels that the Hindi film industry acts as a catalyst for the Indian fashion industry.

He believes that since Bollywood has a huge fan base, it helps in getting a designer’s brand recognised.

Gangwani says the Indian couture industry has significantly evolved over the past years and it is the responsibility of the fashion fraternity to keep this evolution constant. “Over the years, I have always added a modern twist to the silhouettes in my couture collections. The couture industry has significantly evolved over the past years. I think it is important that we keep this evolution constant,” Gangwani said in an earlier occasion.

The designer, who has styled Bollywood stars like Hrithik Roshan, Kangana Ranaut and Aishwarya Rai Bachchan, believes that associating with such celebrities does a world of good to a designer’s creations.

“Bollywood certainly acts as a catalyst for the Indian Fashion industry in terms of retail. In one way or another, the designers prefer to commercially dress up a celebrity outfit for a film rather than showcasing it exclusively on the ramp. Since Bollywood has millions of followers, the brand recognition through it goes a long way,” Gangwani told in an interview.

The designer, who also had the honour of dressing the King Of Bhutan Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck, shared that the “potential customers are more discerning than ever and have a growing penchant for exclusivity”.

The growing couture industry has set high standards for aspiring designers and that intense competition makes designers put their best work forward, he added.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses

Of the reflective windows and minds:

From the window screen
Little Sj town appears glowing
The high glass windows of my hotel room
Reflects the hilltop
The lamposts outside, like fireflies  
Rains nostalgia
Of places and faces

She's more than
what she think
she is.

She's stubborn and funny,
doesn't want to be
called 'beautiful',
and a little bit of a snob

but I like her that way,
not letting anything
in her way stop her
from getting what she wants

but she doesn't know what
she truly wants.

She's beautiful in her
own kind of way
and she doesn't know
that.

Says that she doesn't
want to get married
because men
always overrule
women based on
some people she knew

but it doesn't bother me
as much as it used to,
as I told her;
our moments together
is what matters to me
no matter how short
our strange relationship
will live.

and when the day
comes she tells of
our story to her
children, grandchildren,
I may not be there
to hear it,

but I know
for a fact that it happened
and

I'm all up for that.

We give guns to our sons,
to protect our land
to protect our souls
to protect our goals

We have guns in the truck
guns in the car
in the prison bus
guns just for fun.

guns at the airport
guns on the plane
guns in the air,
guns in every state

guns at the armory
guns at the bank
guns for the money
guns in the safe

guns on The Hill
guns on patrol
guns on the street
"guns that ****"

guns on the gangs
guns in the trains
guns at the range
guns on the stage

guns on T.V
guns at big screens
guns at the table,
guns on the scene

guns on the plains,
guns in the mount,
guns in the desert,
guns we can't count

guns in the south,
guns from the west,
from coast to coast
guns everywhere!

guns on hand
guns on the boats

Guns across           ---          the whole wide world.

Guns in Mosul,
Guns in Iraq
Guns in Japan
Guns in Slovak

Guns in Chicago
Guns in Bhutan
Guns in Australia, Malay, and
Taiwan

Guns in Korea,
Guns in the ocean
Guns on the shores, guns never broken
--or sold or banned or destroyed or stolen

No token
prayer,
no
sign of devotion
no tears
or weeping
or candles
have spoken

for the thousands dead, the thousands snuffed dead

Guns in the policecar,
Guns in the open

Guns on the street,
But no, we can't own them

Our children are dead, dying and born
Into a world of guns, and guns that won't go

we protect our world, our money, our loves
with guns

So why don't we do so?
With the children?
Our sons?

You
Showed me
Side of me
That I did not
Know existed
When we bind with
Each other

When i
Feel a tantric rush
Our beings
Souls
And minds
Becoming one
And
Become one with
The universe.

My eyes are like your eyes
In front of a sudden facing face,
I didn't remember me
The body of electricity in the water flow.
Smiling, laugh your lips
Reddish color, like the soft sun of the east
The spring was like the sky
I love your flowering face.
Bright waterfall like bhutan hills
In the heart of peace,
Birds tone from the opacity
Sweet echo was in the evening.
You and I in the road
Romance sprinkle, like spring
Mind and heart blowing the weather
Your and my body massage.

I can't go anywhere
I am too poor

I want to visit
India, Nepal,
Tibet, Mayanmar,
Bhutan, and Tibet

At least there is the internet

White and black clouds on blue sky
And to be the rain around,
Flowers flowering greenish yellow and red color
The nature is beautiful, and everything of nature.
River flow from Bhutan hills in our village
Birds sing sweetly and dancing on trees,
Farmers go to harvest, in the land of agriculture
Go to the womens to give rice.
Servants and farmers make the border
Womens caught fish by jekhai on the river,
The cricket sing afternoon and evening
Halzangkhra would be in the land of agriculture.
The girls go to take bath on river
To take a smiling on thier lips,
Go to pluck vegetables at the banks of river
The proggies provoke to them.
See the himalaya mountain by stretching legs
Fishes are happiness and flock of the heron,
The world is youth in this season
Beautiful and be the form of dark green.

Uh, yeah
Another one of those
(This is for my man the 14th
Dalai Lama)
They don't know who we are
They don't know who we are
What they don't know is
The *******, the drama (uh), the guns, the armor (what!)
The city, the farmer, the babies, the mama (what!)
The ghettos, the drugs (uh!), the children, the soldiers (Uh!)
The tears, the hugs, the love, the slugs (c'mon!)
The funerals, the wakes, the temples, the coffins (uh!)
The heartbroken mothers - it happens too often (why?)
The problems, the things we use to solve 'em (what!)
Mustang, Bhutan (uh!), Kathmandu , ottawa (c'mon!)
The hurt, the pain, the dirt, the rain (uh!)
The ****, the hate, the work, the gain (uh!)
The friends, the foes, the protests, the nazis (what!)
The autopsies, the shows, comes and it goes (c'mon!)
The racism, the envy, the phony, the friendly (uh-huh!)
The one that gave them the slugs, the one that put 'em in me (woo!)
The snakes, the grass too long to see (uh, uh!)
The lawnmower sittin' right next to the tree (c'mon!)
They don't know who we are
They don't know who we are
They don't know who we are
They don't know who we are
What we seeing is
The streets, the chinese, the uiygers, torture (uh-huh)
The options, get shot, go to jail, or getcha *** kicked (a'ight)
The human rights , the part they are of the puzzle (uh-huh)
The release, the warning, "Try not, to get in trouble." (****!)
The bullies, the odds (uh), guantanamo, yakuza (what!)
The new enemy, the prank, the ****, the airports (****!)
The cell, the airport security, the ride down south (uh-huh)
The greens, the boots, camp delta, the dogs  (uh!)
The fightin', the stabbin', the pullin', the grabbin' (what!)
The trade center, nobody knows what happened (what!)
The wars, revenge, the plots (uh!)
The sleep devipravtion, the one hour that's not (uh!)
The silence, the dark, the mind so fragile (a'ight!)
The wish that the streets of lhasa would have took you when they had you (****!)
The days, the months, the years, despair
One night on my knees, here it comes: om mani padme hum
They don't know who we are
They don't know who we are
They don't know who we are
They don't know who we are
This here is all about
My girlfriend, my parents (uh-huh), the life that I live (uh-huh)
Through the night I was his (uh-huh), it was right what I did (uh-huh)
My ups and downs (uh), my slips, my falls (uh)
My trials and tribulations (uh), my heart, my baoudings (uh)
My mother, my father - I love 'em, they annoy me (uh!)
Wish God, I didn't have 'em, but I'm glad that he made 'em (uh!)
The airplanes, the fire, the strays, the cats (what, what!)
The guns, knives and bats, every time we scrap
The hijacking, the kidnapping', the robbin', the stealin' (uh!)
The **** hit the ceilin', little girl with no feelin's (****)
The frustration, rage, trapped inside a cage
The beatings till the age I read (a'ight!)
Somebody stop me (please!), somebody come and get me (what!)
Little did I know that the Lord was ridin' with me
The dark, the light (uh), my heart (uh), the fight (uh)
The wrong (uh!), the right (uh!), it's gone (uh!), a'ight!
They don't know who we are
They don't know who we are
They don't know who we are
They don't know who we are
They don't know who we are
They don't know who we are
They don't know who we are
They don't know who we are

There is within me
a moon-
a twilight Cézanne,
a barren Bhutan,
a dim-lit Rodin,
a mirage-less Sudan.

There is within me
a moon-
a post-war Japan,
a loveless Quran,
a last place at Cannes,
a Carson 'n couch
(without his McMahon.)

There is within me
a moon-
a 4th place finish in Laussane,
a certain Cohen sans his Suzanne.

a moon
a hunk of frozen rock, reflecting
gold sherd from all around
a spark in the dark, wholly drowned
the shiniest, hope-giving speck for years unbound

up close though,
should one
ever
dare to come
(of course none
ever
shall/have)
the sharp and unworn, no-color regolith

ever
alone, alone, alone he is
ever
on the verge of dirge he is

unhappily repeating to himself-
repeating to himself,
repeating to himself,
repeating to himself...

to himself,
to himself,
to himself...

by himself.

I am living in Bhutan,
and I am a very happy man
At least that's what they say I am.
No one came to ask me though,
so how is it that they could know
that I am such a contented chap?
Now this has got me in a flap,
to find that the UN in the USA
has now come up with some way,
to tell how happy we all are,
they must have scanned me from afar,
And by doing this they've read my mind
which is a very scary thing to find,
and just by listening to the BBC
I know I've had this done to me.
So now I fear all the time
that I'm a victim of cyber crime.
They stole the happiness I had,
and left me full of fear, and sad!

Tom Higgins.

You promised
A life in Bhutan
As lovers
I took your promise
As gospel

You promised
Me that
We would practice
Tantra
I took your promise
As gospel

Your promise
Me
That we would see the monasteries
As we traveled through
Your country
I took your promise
As gospel

Then I found out that you
Only like teenagers
And underaged girls
Well you can
**** your promises.

I could imagine one day
Dying from loneliness

What is life really?

Some strange experience
Followed by another experience

I wish people would stop asking
"How are you?"

You'll never know

One day I'll just move to Bhutan
And help the farmers there
Or something

There's a forest fire in Spain
and a typhoon in Japan
India's in floods from heavy rain
and an earthquake in Bhutan

There's a virus outbreak on a cruise
a ten car pile up on a bridge
and we just received some breaking news
there is no milk in the fridge

and the breaking came with quite a smash
like a collision of tectonic plates
then a loud thump and then a crash
and the slamming of front gates

so you might hear a disturbance great
with wives spitting like they're llamas
that's why early morning in aisle eight
there are husbands in pyjamas

(nevertheless ex post facto still flattered
genuine heartfelt kinship mattered,
hence the reasonable rhyme
across the webbed wide world
I subsequently scattered).

Linkedin to the previous poem,
(similarly written scant few years ago.

I also codified, glorified, and lamented
an unexpected cessation of communication
with he/him who affixed yours truly
appellation of wise man, which modesty
of mine gently downplays.

Bhutan names defy affiliating,
determining, identifying... gender,
and what a faux pas this dada admits,
when a blessed high school
student did league gully tender

benighted, gifted, ordained yours truly
with sobriquet "Guru"
alluded to in previous poem, render
ring this foolish hearty good fella (me)
falling prey to embarrassing situation,

(I did miss render
as would be expected
from this crash test dummy,
who dented his psychological fender),
vis virtual mind ******,

when an initial presumption
smarted Matthew Scott as offender,
asper online youth NO pretender
by him, aye mean the sender
communicated his admiration,

adoration, adulation for this big spender
of sincerity, viz singular poetic magi - (ha)
made presumption that
unknown messenger slender,
and female, and

upon enclosing appender
referencing person as "lovely princess"
did respondent clarify finding deface
of zee poet here -
logic chops went thru blender

as if slapped by a suspender
experiencing irrevocable shame
as though a contender
attempting to guide false supposition
playfully mistaking ******

identity of male sender,
he (young kneeler)
bowed as winning scoring goaltender
down as mine professed

metrical feet, he who acquiesced
non Asian minor, friender
NOT seeking moneylender,
nor mistook my heart of gold,
mine apology I did obligingly surrender

and possibly chuckled to himself,
asper an uproarious hellbender
whereat my countenance turned
sixty plus four shades of lavender.

The mist makes you see far.

Driving home, it was late after a clinic visit
the mist hung heavy over the valley that looked like a different landscape.
I might as well drive in Bhutan, a place where mad royals live.
At the dinner table, the prince excused himself, returned with a machine gun
and shot them all, a truly Shakespearian moment.
The prince was declared mentally unfit sent to a secure place
but since he was now a king, he can walk around and be free of relatives, sits in the throne-room
wears a crown and nothing can be done about it.
The French got rid of their royals but not totally some of them still walk around calling themselves
duke or baron, but politicians occupy their splendid castles.
I saw them, the royals of yore moving about in the mist, reminded me
of the ghosts on the island of Saragossa where blind old tars are forever trying to escape back to
the sea where they once were the princelings of the oceans.

Unbeknownst to this unsuspecting witty mortal,
a reverberation attributed to butterfly effect
linkedin to hotmail twittering Facebook member,
who resides within Bhutan, his dignified volition
accorded me magnanimity titled sage without any

influential collusion from Russians bestowed yours
truly with said honorably distinguished appellation,
which humility of mine humbly accepted without a
protestation, though never would I brazenly adopt
spiritual holiness, yet flattered to share such rare

pronouncements, when unsolicited feedback lobbed
in my direction (way before advent of Information
Technology Revolution) often tendered, kindled, and
belittled this gentle human, sans when bullies slung
byte ting bit torrent loathsome scandalous red zingers

targeting personal vulnerabilities, asper being under
socially withdrawn, painfully shy, plagued with speech
impediment (severe nasality) caused by submucous
cleft client, plus weighing where needle budged from
absolute zero pounds, topped with passive demeanor

susceptibilities conveniently converging to establish
this bruised Earthling ideal choice as scapegoat, no
kidding with dread to endure endless days, weeks,
months...a lifetime channel of opprobrious, noxious,
malicious emotionally demonic, cannibalistic, barbaric

abominable, damnable, horrible diatribes chipping
(dale lee) at what measly self confidence shielded
fragile psyche fast crumbling into grist for hungry
caterpillar, unbeknownst that flight path randomly

followed by a representative of Lepidoptera order,
would ineluctably set very subtly infinitesimal
fluctuations within air (currently supplying biota
with requisite oxygen), also training perturbation.

Patience Young Grasshopper mine alter ego spoke
when yours truly figuratively chomping at the bit
more accurately fretting with anxiousness when
boyhood body of mine underwent metamorphosis
impossible mission to thwart biological transformation.

Unbeknownst to this unsuspecting witty mortal,
a reverberation attributed to butterfly effect
linkedin to hotmail twittering Facebook member,
who resides within Bhutan, his dignified volition
accorded me magnanimity titled sage without any

influential collusion from Russians bestowed yours
truly with said honorably distinguished appellation,
which humility of mine humbly accepted without a
protestation, though never would I brazenly adopt
spiritual holiness, yet flattered to share such rare

pronouncements, when unsolicited feedback lobbed
in my direction (way before advent of Information
Technology Revolution) often tendered, kindled, and
belittled this gentle human, sans when bullies slung
byte ting bit torrent loathsome scandalous red zingers

targeting personal vulnerabilities, asper being under
socially withdrawn, painfully shy, plagued with speech
impediment (severe nasality) caused by submucous
cleft client, plus weighing where needle budged from
absolute zero pounds, topped with passive demeanor

susceptibilities conveniently converging to establish
this bruised Earthling ideal choice as scapegoat, no
kidding with dread to endure endless days, weeks,
months...a lifetime channel of opprobrious, noxious,
malicious emotionally demonic, cannibalistic, barbaric

abominable, damnable, horrible diatribes chipping
(dale lee) at what measly self confidence shielded
fragile psyche fast crumbling into grist for hungry
caterpillar, unbeknownst that flight path randomly

followed by a representative of Lepidoptera order,
would ineluctably set very subtly infinitesimal
fluctuations within air (currently supplying biota
with requisite oxygen), also training perturbation.

Patience Young Grasshopper mine alter ego spoke
when yours truly figuratively chomping at the bit
more accurately fretting with anxiousness when
boyhood body of mine underwent metamorphosis
impossible mission to thwart biological transformation.

Unbeknownst to this unsuspecting witty mortal,
a reverberation attributed to butterfly effect
linkedin to hotmail twittering Facebook member,
who resides within Bhutan, his dignified volition
accorded me magnanimity titled sage without any

influential collusion from Russians bestowed yours
truly with said honorably distinguished appellation,
which humility of mine humbly accepted without a
protestation, though never would I brazenly adopt
spiritual holiness, yet flattered to share such rare

pronouncements, when unsolicited feedback lobbed
in my direction (way before advent of Information
Technology Revolution) often tendered, kindled, and
belittled this gentle human, sans when bullies slung
byte ting bit torrent loathsome scandalous red zingers

targeting personal vulnerabilities, asper being under
socially withdrawn, painfully shy, plagued with speech
impediment (severe nasality) caused by submucous
cleft client, plus weighing where needle budged from
absolute zero pounds, topped with passive demeanor

susceptibilities conveniently converging to establish
this bruised Earthling ideal choice as scapegoat, no
kidding with dread to endure endless days, weeks,
months...a lifetime channel of opprobrious, noxious,
malicious emotionally demonic, cannibalistic, barbaric

abominable, damnable, horrible diatribes chipping
(dale lee) at what measly self confidence shielded
fragile psyche fast crumbling into grist for hungry
caterpillar, unbeknownst that flight path randomly

followed by a representative of Lepidoptera order,
would ineluctably set very subtly infinitesimal
fluctuations within air (currently supplying biota
with requisite oxygen), also training perturbation.

Patience Young Grasshopper mine alter ego spoke
when yours truly figuratively chomping at the bit
more accurately fretting with anxiousness when
boyhood body of mine underwent metamorphosis
impossible mission to thwart biological transformation.

heyy mann  nepal  is better so is bhutan so is leh but i m not from there for me it is easy to go 2 bampa