A
cry for Tibet
I met him in the train on my
way home
He wore the robes coloured
in saffron
Looked so frail and out of
place
Searching his way to
Shangri-La.
He smiled and made me sit
With a warm gesture foreign
to me
He spoke softly holding my
hand
Like a brother I have never
known.
Asked me if I knew where
Tibet is
He asked me why we did not
care
Lost his family kith and
kin
Only the prayer wheel he
has to show.
You helped Kuwait, you helped
Bosnia
He said, Went to Nicaragua
out of your way
Is it the colour or the
creed?
Or is it just we have no
friends to heed.
When does the buck stop for
justice?
When do we stop and hear
the cries
There is no justice there
is no peace
Where the lords lived and
the gods ruled.
There is a genocide we choose
not to look
For that precious buck we
need to make
Millions died and holocaust
began
We choose not to look just
to make that buck.
There is no oil there is no
gold
There is nothing to dig
anywhere you look.
Only the dejected faces
which tell the tale
Of a culture being lost in
vain.
There is no justice there is no
peace
There are voices to be
heard
Where the lords lived and
the gods ruled.
Will he ever find his
Shangri-La?
- Naked poet -