In Tibet

(11/21/02)

When I first read about the butter lamps
I could smell the smoke that filled the spacious halls
And darkened tapestries on temple walls
I heard the call of bells in far-off camps

And stars like candles in the frozen night
Appeared as on the table of a King,
I knew the song the spinning prayer-wheels sing
And recognized this strange familiar site

As one who passes through a childhood town
Remembers lanes forgotten by the rest,
Knows secrets no adult has ever guessed
And every path his feet have travelled down.

I saw in vision's clear awakened eye
The coloured flags flapping in the wind
The saffron robes native to my kind
And awesome statues of the Deity.

I lived and loved in that transparent air
And rode beneath her skies of ideal blue,
I died in fields where orange lilies grew,
Upon my lips an ancient Buddhist prayer.