Sacred Children's Story Poem by Lovita Morang

...Far in the east end is the land of tawang
call abode of God of humaneness,
first rays of the life of the sun-breaths here that
kiss the existence of the Pagodas that stand tall,
the mantras, the monks;

In the lap of majestic mountains, happy are the-starving child
than the dying orphans of the glittering streets.

Hamlets on the hills
bathed by the breeze of the bravery…..

Brave children plays into the silvery streams,
There he sails a dream boat,

unknown to the glitzy world;
weird world of wonders.

Clad in maroon and saffron sacred robe,
The Shangken, the shievir
Like the sky bathed in the holiness
Of the crimson red western horizon

Never their peace be robbed-
Let the tiny feet wanders through the waning ways,
let it wanes through the pure thorny path of reality.

Buddhang Sharranam Gatsami:
Dhammang Sharranam Gatsami:

Voices of the holy child vibrates,
Echoes through the hills
through the white clouds

Touches the heart of the skies,
blessed are thou, o holy child…

Here
in the womb of abundance
bounded in fake smile the slaughtered innocence…
Daily prayer, is begging
a reason so hopeless
for living...