Should I mourn your absence?
What form could contain
that unrivalled presence?

Should I weep for you?
What tears offer release
to one already freed?

Should I run to your side?
What frantic display
reveres your stillness?

Should I recall you?
What image gives shape
to your shabby elegance?

Should I speak of you?
What eulogy does justice
to your eloquence?

Should I bequeath garlands?
What wilted flowers
could embody such wisdom?

Should I hold to your words?
Why cling to the shape,
when their spirit rises through deeds

Should I forget your faults?
What wise person rejects
the power of forgiveness?

Should I cease the journey?
What hero turns back,
when the sage disappears?

Should I fall to despair?
What darkness could consume
 the brilliance of your gifts?

Should I search for a leader?
What craftsman decries
their tools for another’s?

I shall not speak, or imagine,
or cry or cling.
No flowers will be sent, or berths arranged.
No grief, or fault
or grasping search,
shall halt my course.

That was your way, Sangharakshita.
Nothing would halt your course.
Now it’s ours alone,
to walk.

Dh Bodhidasa (1/11/2018)