Dharamsala Sunset

Red, gold, purple and indigo the banners of the sun

Stream across Dharamsala’s sky in silent homage

To the exile of Tibet and the lost land of the snows

Offerings of an ocean of skies

Stretch to the horizon

The wind repeats the mani mantra with a keening cry

Colours of the monasteries reflected in the glowing sky

Gentle obeisance to the lineage of the Compassionate One

Voices of the lost and lonely

Drift up to the distant sun

Beyond these great Himalaya and on the roof of the world

Where the yaks pick their way through the icy snows

The smoke of nomadic fires drift like sails unfurled

Incense for the gods

Of the ten directions

The sun sets over Dharamsala and the sky runs red with blood

Shed by monks and laity over these many years of occupation

Sacrifice of human life, religion and age old customs understood

The Snow Lion weeps

While the rest of the world sleeps

And still those displaced say the mani for all breathing things

The prayer flags fly, the prayer wheels turn silently

On the fading sun’s last rays the chanting monk sings

The purple night falls

A curtain on the world that was Tibet.