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Whispers on the Cliff
Upon the edge where eagles dare,
A temple sleeps in mountain air,
Its golden roof, a burning flame,
Whispers the Buddha’s sacred name.
The winds chant hymns in ancient tongue,
Where prayer flags bright in silence hung,
Their colors dance with hopes unseen,
Like dreams that drift in air between.
No road below, no path above,
But still it stands with quiet love,
A refuge far from world and war,
Where souls remember what they are.
So let the weary heart take flight,
To cliffs where spirit touches light—
For in this nest of cloud and stone,
The seeker finds they’re not alone. 20 replies
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