Buddha Poem by Natasa To

Under the Bodhi's patient shade he sat,
While kingdoms rose and fell beyond the grass.
No crown upon his head, no sword, no throne—
Only the quiet courage to let go.

The river carried moonlight at his feet,
Night insects stitched their hymns into the dark,
And every sorrow wandering the earth
Seemed to arrive and rest within his breath.

He saw that grief was born from grasping hands,
From hearts that chained themselves to passing things:
A name, a face, a dream that could not stay,
Like dew that disappears at dawn's first fire.

Yet he did not condemn the human ache.
He touched it gently, like a wounded bird.
Compassion bloomed where judgment could have grown,
Soft as lotus petals after rain.

At sunrise, silence opened into light.
The fig tree trembled in the morning wind.
And Buddha rose—not distant from the world,
But walking through it with awakened eyes.

So even now, when anger clouds the mind
Or fear becomes a storm too loud to bear,
His lesson waits within the smallest pause:
Peace is not found by fleeing life,
But by seeing it clearly, and loving still.