The pigeons in the golden dome
Crow about the eightfold path
As the small bells on top coo in reply
But the people are too blinded by piety,
They pray at the Buddha's feet silently,
Have children hammer the gongs,
Give service and compassion to everyone
And all they've received back as alms.
It appears the pigeons are not speaking of them
But of the one so blinded by poverty
She accosts the pilgrims desperately to buy her bells --
"I'm mad, I am unhappy, this isn't fair"
She storms, with eyes not hidden
Enough by thenika leaf
To be forgotten.
What a lesson it is to say "no" to that,
Feeling the heart explode
As if it didn't see the suffering
Hidden in the smiles before.
The fighting dogs still talk of it at 3 am,
As if the day will never come again.
