Here in Dalhousie it is not about
Snows ,gathered up on the road
Into weird sculptures of thinking,
But a wind angry on green roofs,
A show of strength on our nights
By pines dancing to eerie winds.
Dalhousie is dead ,gone long ago.
His imperial cold blows as a soul
Like funeral humor of gray poets.
His doctrine lapsed a baby’s right
On royal back of the fierce queen.
A cold wind blew on white empire.
Everything lapses and white rule.
Snow crafts a thinking sculpture
That melts by a fierce night wind.
(Dalhousie is a Himalayan town named after the British Governor- General of that name , who had introduced the Doctrine of Lapse by which he could annex the kingdom’s of the native Kings who had no male heirs)