by D K Noone, The Buddhist Channel, Sept 28, 2007

The winds that blow from out the east a blight upon free land.
The children of the orient strangled by a godless hand.
In Myanmar the saffron robe is trampled in the street.
While Tibetians long weep bitterly to clasp the Llama’s feet.

What manner of ruler be that would bash the shaven head.
Godless vulgar red monster, heart fashioned out of lead.
Steal the food from out the orphans mouth, take the widows mite.
Crawl back into your vipers dens and cower from the light.

Yet men that have the power and fill the seats of kings.
Do sit and watch askance, unmoved they finger golden rings.
Saying Tibet you have no oil reserves, Myanmar where is your gold.
No money is made giving humans dignity, no profit for the heart grown cold.

Crossed legged before my third eyes gaze the Buddha’s present incarnation.
His peaceful ways and loving hands reach out towards his nation.
Gods own smile is etched upon his face, infinite compassion fills his eye
While by the hand of the godless man another monk will die.

In countries free around the world, people protest in the street.
Brave souls of the orient though beaten down are loathe unto retreat.
I pray I live to see a day when people everywhere, stand as brave as them.
Courage even to the coward who does but touch the saffron hem.

Alas even if the tide don’t turn and Gods children are laid low.
Out of the desolation and destruction a little flower may yet grow.
T’is the seed from out of which compassion comes, truth and justice from it blooms
Those roots will choke the godless ones, it’s flowers communism dooms.
Peace, peace, peace.