AT THE END OF THE EARTH

When the shit hits the fan,
and you’re quaking with dread,
be ready to run as fast as you can.

Dunces with snarly faces beat the drums.
Even the Dalai Lama gets pissed, confronted
by bayonets he can’t block or parry.

Take nothing but a toothbrush,
and stick close to a Sherpa as you trek
across the hot sands of the Gobi.

Follow the scent of jasmine
until you see the blue hue of a sky
over a valley with silent mist.

Natives with smiling faces
will welcome you, in a country
where rulers rule without ruling.

Out of the shadows, beguiling Bodhisattvas
will chant mantras of peace and purity
in a cacophony of animal sounds.

Safe as a monkey in a tree,
ride on an elephant, munching
on mangoes, papayas and melons.

The despair that once filled your soul
will vanish in the presence of a still pond,
surrounded by majestic flora and fauna.

Breathe like a newborn baby.