Under the Apple blossoms,
When you rest your head on my lap,
I will read to you about the mighty mountains of Lhasa and prayers in a Mani wheel.
I will tell you the story of how my father had a 107 horses but when he came from Tibet,
it was on foot.
About the scented monastery of Lamayuru.
About my Acha and her wrinkles,
And how I have finally made peace with Zanskar river.
And, when your mind flows slower than the river,
know that we have become one.
Under the Apple blossoms.