Coloured cloth flaps with a tenderness of breeze
and sweet smell of incense is carried in the air.
Chants and prayers continue uninterrupted
but fear grips a few peasants gathered
Sends them into frenzied scurries of flight.
With neutral ambivalence
and still evenly breathing
the holy man approaches the dazed one
hands him a china bowl containing water
which the soldier turns upside down
empties to the ground
whilst still pointing his rifle at him.
The prompt by Dani today at Poetry Jam was to use art/painting for our inspiration.
I wanted to write something to do with Tibetan wind chimes and, Googling it came across this artist’s stunning work. He has so many lovely paintings at his website. Wai Ming