Friday, December 11, 2015

Poem: mother

                                        

If you feel the hatred

of the 300 who died beside you

thinned

breasts dry

bones blackening waxpaper 

skin

if you feel rage toward China

eating beaten 

leather again and again

in each telling


rip you

30 years in jail

off beaten shoes

your son torn from you drowned

your daughter restored at 27

whom you cannot call



if you feel laughter that

love of silence


goes on and on and on

out a jail window like a seabird

soaring the horizon

on and


let the nyingma lama

also a prisoner

smoke incense sticks 

mani

on the left shoulder

and below the heart


move slowly toward

and to the right

compassion


smokes up


87 years
  

padme

walking



with woodencane

three times around the kora

darkmountain Dharamsala


every morning

at 3 AM

***

Ama (Mother) Adhe spoke to the 16 of us from the University of Denver at Tibet World in Dharmsala.  For an account of an earlier talk and another poem "Counting" about her story, see here and here.

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