"bamiyan" poems
Golden colours by the river, old and grey
they sparkle over each side of Bamiyan Valley
Shines and smiles of caves annihilate them
Prior to Monk XuanZang to fabled silk road.
You heard the fire and bombs in the veins of heart’s purr.
They are all stones; one big, another smaller.
It was a Sunday, a pray day and you heard the egos of
screams: morals! Your eyes and lips ampersand
Dusts and sands persist over 1700 years of Dynasties.
Sculptures of love vanished at Bamiyan valley
Was this loves outcome then, these stones made, red materials
Addressed with an order of elimination that fires so blindingly?
“Not in vain, not in vain, Shall I look for you again”
The voice of XuanZang transformed his precepts are sound,
“An infinite…XYZ” with the veins of our eternal love.
Their eyelids say.
Sep 15, 2021
Sep 15, 2021 at 9:41 AM UTC
I’m still here, said the Bamiyan Buddha
Rubble and hatred up to his knees
And his precepts are sound, and will go on forever
Despite the barbaric atrocities.
Stuart Williamson ©
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 4:16 PM UTC