Here come the saffron figures
Their all seeing eyes, fixed
On heaven's molten soul
Monks of no-man's land,
I am your worldly witness
No Gautama, but a prince
In a society of princes
A self-made royal peasant
Still turning the wheel
Ananda, where are your sutras?
The Fire Sermon has cooled
Buddha at the beginning, Buddha at the end
Our journeys are made on holiday
Without commercial interruptions
Lord, I am no warrior king
Full of death and honour
But a mountain worshiper
Searching for my Lhasa
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