I see a mountain bedecked with wild flowers,
And on the grasslands below, the proud, stately creature you called your own.
I see the white-washed compound wall of your home,
And at its entrance, the two black majestic Dok-Kyhi(s) that stood guard.
I see the grand prayer halls of the monastery that was your home,
And in its walls, the sea of maroon and red that ruled your world.
I see the holy lake before which you stood,
And in the water below, the prophecy you saw of the times to come.
I see the wrinkles on your tanned, brown skin,
And in your eyes, the pain from knowing you’ll never see your home again.