We are in a hollow world,
Where people are headless chicken,
Bloody revolutionaries, brute force charging together
To slay, the meditating monks.

Alas! Where are the sane voices?
All dried up,
Fearing brutal comrades.
As dry chaff in the storm,
Or flies over dead corpse.
Lifeless jokers, dancing meaninglessly.

Closed streets of Lhasa are red,
With the blood of monks and lamas.
Some have crossed to a,
Paralyzed other kingdom,
To avoid brutal repression,
Meeting hollow and stuffed comrades.

I cannot dare to open my eyes,
To see death’s kingdom,
Violent sunlight on shattered bodies,
Dead land-ruled by cactuses,
Raising of a dead man’s head,
Under the cluster of dying stars.

It is death’s world
It is a paradise for ghosts
Moving alone
Trembling with fear
Lips kissing the dying soul.

Revolutionaries have no eyes
In this Death Valley
Bullets select their own targets,
Poor monks grope together
Speechless on this mountain of dying kingdom.

Hollow ideas, sad realities
No conception, no creation, no emotion
Havoc is made in the silent valley.
Only for a desire
To live and let live.

Alas! Roof of the failed world,
Looking-The defender of faith,
The Holy One, the Absolute wisdom,
Have mercy, save us.