To Our Dearly Beloved Son, Now Dead

for Mahathero Gunasena In a makeshift vihara in the heart of London Bikku then disclosed his parents long gone Might one dare utter after all these years Was it yesterday he would shed dry tears Somewhere in the saffron folds of his faith A lonely boy still lurked wanting his mother Or brother sister and hope-dislocating father Of how they could abandon even his wraith Just a single line in the inner board of a book Over dried blue ink his fingers caressed words A life he might’ve had in who knows what worlds He just wanted to say: ‘See, who so forsook!’ In an unwatched vihara in the heart of London A forsaken boy dared break out of monkdom Might one dare utter after all these years Was it yesterday he would shed dry tears Too late he had come to own up this truth: ‘If there’s a Supreme Being leave Him well be He knows best what He’s doing forsooth Mind your own business leave Him well be!’ Should one gauge the measure of a man’s humanity From his ability to outgrow imposed attachments: Such as confines of his community race or country But most of all withstand the viral encroachments Of his conditioned beliefs upon his own personality. © T. Wignesan – Paris – September 8, 1983 (Rev. 2012) From: T. Wignesan Copyright ©: T. Wignesan - Paris, 1983 - (from the sequence/collection: "Words for a Lost Sub-Continent", 1999.)