Folded our hands on the chest
Shut-down our eyes from the depth.
Chanting our mouth like a parrot
Is not a way of Buddhism.
Give our things by a heavy hope
Help those poor for a hope of return.
Harm others through even a small way
Is not a practice of Buddhism.
Nihilistic mind on the things of samsara
Real existence mind on the things of samsara
Whirling on the things of immortal
Is not a habit of Buddhism.
Everything is a sense of emptiness
Existence on the way of interdepending
Anything is named by our introspection
Is the truth explained by Buddhism.
None a prophecy on when we die
Foretell the so far, an unpredictable
If tomorrow comes or goes, we lack
No one knows is a real Buddhism.
After our deeds that we did
We transform to another lust-body
We whirl through this way ever
Is the wisdom of great Buddhism.
Drive our car of bad deeds
Towards the direction of nirvana
Step forwards the direction of kindness
Is the essence of true Buddhism.
Buddhism is an analysis.
Buddhism is a juxtaposing.
Buddhism is a realistic mind.
Buddhism is a hook, which hook
Us from the deepest ocean of pain….
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Comments about this poem (Buddhism by sambhota wangpo )
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