Threshold

Day in and day out, I've been laying here.

For generations, I have been laying here,

A silent witness to the unfolding drama,

A seat for the impatient daughter

Waiting for her father’s return home from his travels,

A place for the weary traveler to rest their load

Or for the mischievous child to crack walnuts.

I mark the entrance, and I mark the exit.

I've known bare feet, and feet clad in leather,

Young feet and old feet,

Chaffed feet and feet with skin so tender.

Kings, Queens, Soldiers, Monks, Scholars,

Fathers, Mothers, Sons, Daughters,

Serfs, Landlords, Farmers, Craftsmen,

Lovers, Enemies, Friends…

They've all crossed over me

To enter into this home.

I've witnessed the changing of the guards,

And these floorboards and stone steps

Have grown old together with me.

Though I am worn, and old,

And bare now, I still stand guard.

Today, tourists and guides

Are the only ones who cross over me.
...
[Lines written as a part of a ‘writing exercise’ during Writers Retreat from 24-27^th March at Ogyen Chholing Palace at Tang, Bumthang, Bhutan.]

[The entrance to the palace courtyard]