Poetry: “The Song of Prajñā”

High Peaks Pure Earth has translated two poems titled “The Song of Prajñā”. Prajñā is a Sanskrit term, meaning wisdom. The poems were composed as part of a poetry competition organised online by the Three Provinces of Tibet poetry group and published on their TibetCul blog on February 5, 2012. These poems follow up from Gade Tsering’s poem “The Song of Prajñā” which we featured on May 24, 2012.

Translations of poems by members of the Three Provinces of Tibet poetry group have previously featured on High Peaks Pure Earth, see the “Straying Far From Myself” poetry series and also the 2012 prose piece “I Am Tibetan” by Dechen Hengmei.

“The Song of Prajñā”
By Dechen Hengmei

You were born an artist
You received an invitation from your hometown
Asking you to give several talks at the museum
To talk about global warming and soul-redemption
After a week you took the ferry to your hometown
The sea breeze whispered into your ear, you heard the Siren’s alluring voice
You close your eyes, the enchanting music and voices are surrounding you
You want to escape, although there is no direction,
But you are in a huge ferry
At that moment, you speak out the truth
You see the snow and wind from the high continent
The silent yogi in the cave, with the seed of wisdom in the mouth
A snowstorm is about to come, the flock are suffering from the cold

You are always talking about the end of the world
Sleeping among many empty liquor bottles with obscure dreams
In the morning, you see the soul blocking the door
It does not allow you to move
You want to struggle, and open up memories
But you do not know how to extend the heavy and old hands
To grasp and to forget are, in fact, the same things
To write or not becomes the hard destination in front of you
What to write, how would it be if you spoke out
And in the end everything must be written and spoken out

Silent lips, hesitating and shivering for all time
Swallowed rage and bliss
And they are all melted into calm sighs in the turbulent storm
It is the summit of the waves when you are staring at a drop of water going into the sea
When everything becomes clear, the outline is almost formed
You begin to consider how to forget the details of the past
When the story is spread on others’ body
It seems you have known it before, and you are intoxicated

Barley spread everywhere over the hills on the high continent, as well as Gods
Thick smoke, with the faraway look in your eyes after smoking marijuana
Are combined together perfectly, without discrimination
You depict the stunning mandala carefully, birds outside the window begin to sing
You open the window, clear your eyes, the green morning branches are facing the window
You go out, and your soul bends down to let you go
You walk down the stairs, melt yourself into the crowd, the street is bustling
Uneasily, you walk to the crowd in the city’s square, along the right side of the road
Absorbed into the original memory, the sound of the conch shell is resounding

February 3, 2012 in Qingtang

“The Song of Prajñā”
By Dorjee Choedpa

The suffering you have experienced
Everyone is experiencing, with different formations

You prostrate yourself on the belly of the plateau
Listening calmly to the stories of the world

You seed the belief
That surrounds the snow mountain, on the magnificent plateau
The sound of the conch shell resounds throughout
Peace to all

February 6, 2012 in Kanlho

This post is also available in: Chinese (Simplified)

1 Comment

  • Tibet is not forgotten, Tibetans aren’t forgotten, language isn’t forgotten,culture isn’t forgotten; and so is our “Independence”. We have forgotten nothing about Tibet even after fifty plus years in exile.What we do constantly remember more is that our “Phayul the Father land.. Tibet is being run by the wrong man. This has to change sooner than later. His Holiness must be in the Potala palace His rightful place..like it once was in better times before.Tibet then shall have democratic rules by the people,of the people, for the people shall be our new lingo.With most fond love home, from exile.