by Roshan Adhikari
A mother who nourished my crops,
Water which rest down my thirst.
A deity which blessed my tiny land Sikkim,
Goddess of worshiping, Teesta her name,
Flows all the season from autumn to spring.
In between the mountains a glacier survives,
Where she took the birth, a place to rejoice.
Flowing down the hill, a melody lingers my ear,
Is it a song of happiness or she screaming in fear?
Branches to pebbles flows a whispering notes,
Stones to boulders thunder roaring tones.
Flowing in her grace she reached the Dikchu land,
Where the concrete shackles, stopped by a dam.
They store the flowing water, greedy unfair torture
Operating the machines, rotating the motor.
Somehow she crawl stand up to flow,
Reaches to singtam her speed is slow.
Flowing down the pharma, the river below us
Drink all the poison, metals to chemicals.
She is the mother, she never complain the fishing net,
We the children of Sikkim, buffet her industrial waste.
Floating down to Rangpo,she looks back to her place
Although she had gone hard, but she never forgets to bless.
How can I take her blessings, I am a cruel son,
I damned down my mother, I am a Sikkim born.
Wandering Souls Of Sikkim 
Nothing in the nature lives for itself Rivers don’t drink their own water Trees don’t eat their own fruit Flowers don’t spread fragrance for themselves
Moral: Living for Others is the Rule of Nature
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