One of the four gates to the Buddhist Stupa at Sanchi, Bhopal, India, where the earthly remains of Buddha are preserved
The shaft of sunlight has shifted away, the monument will plunge in the dark,
In a little while the coldest of the winds will blow over and dip the pallette in black
The bones that were once his body, are still lying cold, centuries old.
The four gates guard the relics of his past, ancient but not too old.
Each pair of spiraling circles holds his stories between the two ends
A world of birds,animals and humans, of ferocity and tenderness, of compassion and battles
A world of royal splendor, love , brotherhood and envy,
Regal elephants and hunting lions, the horses he was taught to master and ride, whom instead he tended and loved --
A world that was aimed to shield him from sorrow....
In the stillness of a night he left that all behind.......
His last ride together with his beloved horse
To the edge of the kingdom he abandoned forever.....
The point where he ended one journey and began another......
In a little while the coldest of the winds will blow over and dip the pallette in black
The bones that were once his body, are still lying cold, centuries old.
The four gates guard the relics of his past, ancient but not too old.
Each pair of spiraling circles holds his stories between the two ends
A world of birds,animals and humans, of ferocity and tenderness, of compassion and battles
A world of royal splendor, love , brotherhood and envy,
Regal elephants and hunting lions, the horses he was taught to master and ride, whom instead he tended and loved --
A world that was aimed to shield him from sorrow....
In the stillness of a night he left that all behind.......
His last ride together with his beloved horse
To the edge of the kingdom he abandoned forever.....
The point where he ended one journey and began another......
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