In 1915,
My grandfather was 12 years old,
When he walked the road to hell,
On the way,
He buried his younger brother in the desert.
Whose shorts he kept until he died
To remember him by.
In 1997,
He spoke of this journey to hell,
And remembered.
"They were not all killers" he said,
"Some were honourable, and helped us".
He then went to bed for the last time.
In 2004, I met a Holy Man.
He is very wise.
As if he were a thousand years old.
I asked him:
"You are but a handful, how can you counter over 1.3 billion Chinese?"
The answer was serene:
"Our only hope is when they themselves realize
that what they are doing to us is wrong".
He then smiled
With the smile of my grandfather.
My grandfather, the Dalai Lama.
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