Ride across Tibet on one Tibetan donkey
Across the valleys and o’er snow-capped crags
The weight of these simians their sorry ass drags
‘Tween monasteries and pagodas their wisdom they spread
The donkey eats shit while they feast on bread
And on sacred themes the primates debate
In psychobabble to which the donkey cannot relate
Through gulches and gullies and in every village
‘cross every prosperous and failing tillage
They forewarn against the good lord’s wrath
And insist on plodding of the middle path
Arguably they’re queried by many a peasant
The answer to these queries is seldom pleasant
Treading the middle path requires the kind of discipline
To which these lowlife heathens aren’t really akin
And this crystalline discipline reflects in their actions
For whenever the solution is apportioned in odd fractions
The middle one they will impetuously choose
And blame it on Buddha should their conscious refuse
Now it so happens, that they come afore a pass
This Himalayan foothill that's beset with tall grass
A decision now lies ‘tween them and their grails
For the path ahead diverges in three different trails
The right towards prosperity and the left towards doom
And the middle one to an avalanche that’ll sweep them like a broom
After much contemplation their decision stands bold:
To take the middle path just like Buddha had told
But the mule is frozen, he’s cold and afraid
He is no more a part of this fanaticism’s parade
When no amount of kicks and curses seem to work
The monkey finally calls him an ass and a jerk
And decides to endure the journey on foot
And the monk follows too; his intelligence kaput
The donkey now watches his two unkind friends
As they meet their horridly deserving ends
As onwards he marches towards the right way,
Where he hopes to find some of the finest hay
He wonders perhaps in reason’s abatement:
Why Buddhism is such a big fashion statement
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