Wednesday, 10 August 2011

The Dalai Lama

They say that sadness is a sluggish river
of patience, or it’s a road to shape new time,
so he came over mountains, a night climb
through passes, as he prayed to the moon's silver --
a wheel of wisdom for a land now gone.
Years are gone too, but never gentle hope,
his people behind walls, quiet on slopes
of snow winds cold at their backs each dawn.

Yes, the karmapa and the young wait for him
to die, they yearn to travel up the river to fight --
claim right to fly prayer flags like kites in the sun,
their Buddhism streaked across the sky. A new leader,
rebirth of a holy sea, is ready to storm from under a banyan tree.

© Lavinia Kumar

A Young Tibetan Lama Prepares for a Greater Role
Lavinia lives in New Jersey. Her poetry has appeared in Waterways, Thatchwork (Delaware Valley Poets), Orbis, US1 Worksheets, Caper, Pemmican, Ascent Aspirations, New Verse News, and the US1 newspaper.