monks_ap372

You preached ahimsa on one day
And took a gun in your hand, the next.
The Buddha’s word is over and done.
A villain’s heart is easily hidden under saintly robes.

Shout the news out from the farthest heights of the Six Heavens.
Twenty-five centuries are buried at last. You spilled blood against every unwritten and written law,
No more room for the real Vinaya.

Here we are now, confused and bleeding, torn away from the doctrine you promised to preach. You are something perverse and new, the Theravadha radical, a cancerous mutation born from intolerance.

The path of your evolution was paved in the blood of the weak. You sit cross-legged on a lotus of carcasses, your sins beneath your feet. Their faces scream out your wrongs and you silence them beneath your cracked soles, too heavy to bear your weight, too full of sin. There’s no more purity in your eyes.
No soul, no heart or compassion.

Must we follow in your footsteps now or would you beg for mercy at the feet of those still left behind?
I need no more mad zealots to poison the Dharma I once loved… I’m holier now and I cry out for reformation.

You preached ahimsa on one day
And took a gun in your hand, the next.
The Buddha’s word is over and done.
A villain’s heart is easily hidden under saintly robes.

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