when feet will become useless

My ashes might rest there one day.
Above the graveyard there I once saw, in a dream, a thangka displayed in the sky, floating. Awesome, magnificent in a portion of sky.
That place might become ashes, just like my body.
The graveyard on a hill, beholding all creatures at its feet, observing the visitors walking or driving toward the place.
A graveyard that had been nomadic until 1959.
Being a stranger here, being a stranger there, may my ashes remain there, were i once saw a thangka. The place of childhood memories of so many summers. Bicycles, colourful fences, the stillness, dirty legs running along old paths and roads,all troughs in the fields that became boats sailing imaginary seas of grass, our colonisation of the useless (in summer) stone bridge, and the old wooden charriots...Worn out shoes.