In the village, simple folk who ransacked
the chapel neglect the subject.
“The thangkas were burnt,” they reluctantly say
when pressed, “the statues smashed.”
The smell of smoke lingers in wood,
in altars, and faithfully engraved tables.
For a complicit people,
forgiveness must come first,
then perhaps freedom.
Where this is not acknowledged,
grave-robbers are not welcome.