FIRST THOUGHT BEST THOUGHT, 108 POEMS
WHISTLING GRASSES OF THE ESK VALLEY
Whistling grasses of the Esk Valley,
So many incidents occur.
The image is the climate of this part of the country.
There comes a hailstorm--
Children, children, seek protection!
A mighty thunderbolt strikes to the ground.
It does not make any distinction between trustees and the spiritual
Violent winds shake the Scots pine tree,
Copper beech and rhododendrons.
I said to myself,
You, most mighty of all, should have come three weeks earlier.
Here is the big storm.
Buckets of rain pour down.
The Esk river turns reddish in color,
Sweeps all the trees and branches away.
A mighty force invades our valley--
Fishes thrown up on the banks for the birds' delight.
Chogyam watches all this,
Wishing that I could be one of those fishes,
That this ruthless political current would throw me away.
Why wasn't I born an innocent fish
That could die in peace on the banks of the Esk?
If karma exists the weather will adjust.
I am not seeking revenge.
I am seeking peace
As one of those fish peacefully dead on the bank,
Its body a feast of its victory.
But I cannot help thinking they will say grace before the meal,
And will have a good cook
To make their evening feast enjoyable.
31 October 1969