In his transcendental state, what must he have felt,
did he retreat to his hermitage in the lonely mountains?
As the glowing flames licked his blistering skin,
did memories of the cool mountain mists ease the pain?
The billowing acrid black smoke from his burning flesh,
slowly snaked in the air and entwined with the fetid heat of noisy Saigon.
As the world watched the grainy images flickering on screen,
his stoic reverence jarringly juxtaposed the rampant chaos of his surroundings.
His orange robes falling away like embers in a forest fire,
and there he sat, a majestic oak, lost in the flames.
Not flinching as the heat greedily stole the air from his burning lungs,
impassive and serene like the mountains he had returned too.
Unaware of the sirens and the horrified screams,
as he now walked peacefully in the cloud-filled valleys of the mountain near Ninh Hoa.
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