This is
a poem by Sakyil Tseta, one of Tibet’s best young poets. I find that the lines
of the original in Tibetan keep echoing in my mind.
Longing for the Deities
By Sakyil Tseta
Translation by Tenzin Dickyi and Dhondup Tashi
Rekjong
These days a spring wind is rising under the
clouded sky.
In these days when a spring wind is rising, the
villagers with bothered and humble eyes are complaining about someone, cursing
someone. At the intersection of the city and the street where there are no red
mirrors searching with their eyes for the caged birds, the villagers push down
their tears of suffering and wish to spit on someone with their laments.
In these days, in these days when a spring wind
is rising under the clouded sky,
In every village of Rebkong, arrow bearing
hunters multiply, on every street of Rebkong, red traps and black mirrors
increase exponentially. The village people, their heads bowed down, are apprehensive
of taking a breath. These days if you don’t take care, there are no dharma
protectors who can save you.
In these days, in these days when a spring wind
is rising under the clouded sky,
In these days when the people of Rebkong stay
silently in their homes, where are the deities and dharma protectors that the
people have placed in their hearts since the time of their ancestors? Are they
disappointed that we can’t take refuge in them? Are they hungry that we can’t
make incense offerings? Is this their answer?
Ah, my deities and dharma protectors. Ah.
In these days, in these days when a spring wind
is rising under the clouded sky,
The people talk of caterpillar fungus in the
day,
And count stars through the window at night.
In these days, in these days when a spring wind
is rising under the clouded sky, shoots from the inner depths of the earth give
vitality and confidence to someone’s young sun of hope. Now, once more the gorgeous peach
blossoms bring to the people’s minds a certain compassionate and youthful face–that
face from far far away is brought to mind, is brought to mind.
In these days of fear, in these days of terror,
I long for the deities clad in mourning felt,
I long for Shambala where the people have
scattered their hopes.
