Ten Thousand Buddhas Temple, Sha Tin

The fact that the temple is also a building site lends
A weirdness to the scene. The summit is closed, guarded by
A ring of golden Buddhas and swathes of corrugated
Iron sheeting. Two cranes loom overhead. There are stoves tucked
Into corners. Fresh apples and oranges are left as
Offerings, the air fraught with incense. The expansion will
House the burgeoning clientele. Neat, raftered rooms with mass
Individualised compartments are scattered across the
Hillside. Death swells the temple’s growth. Signs urge against feeding
The wild monkeys. Women spray down the steps with hoses. Cranes
Wheel. One of the larger of the ten thousand Bhuddas looks
On, an inverted swastika adorning his golden chest.

I think of my grandparents’ ashes, kept in the corner
Cupboard of the study, waiting to be scattered on their land.