All my friends are Bodhisattvas
And when they visit, robed in red
I ask them twenty questions
Like a heart plays with a head
Faces framed by sorrow
Eyes like sun kissed seas
They tell of holy mountains
And tell me god is in the trees
I offer tea and coffee
With mindful, practiced care
But food is never mentioned
Their appetites are spare
And when evening's golden child
Has blossomed into night
I hand them each a poem
Expressing joy and deep delight
They come to see me often
These gentle friends of mine
Because my home is always open
For freedom's light to shine
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Messengers of peace in a world of turmoil..... Nicely done Chris...! Good message. Cheers. Subroto