How do you take poetry, asked he
And hearing him, said I not,
Poetry poetry, poetry is poetry for me
And I coming out of the house
In my search for
Buddhas,
The Buddhas,
Made by the artisans
Across the borders,
Crossing over Ladakh, Arunachal and Sikkim
To be in Tibet, China, Myanmar, Japan,
Mongolia, Hongkong, Cambodia,
Indonesia, Sri Lankan
And the golden Buddhas, cast in gold
And other metals,
In clay, pottery and other models,
Striking and flashing upon,
The monasteries so
Holy and pious,
Just like the inns,
Restive and peaceful
And the golden statue glistening,
Radiating and flashing upon,
Beaming with joy
And blessing
The Golden Buddha,
The Serene Buddha.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem