Poet on “The Bronze Buddha’s Whisper”
His eyes, gently lowered, never quite close, Hold secrets of stillness that nobody knows. A hand lifted upward, calm as the dawn, A…
In a hall of bamboo, quiet and small, Sits a Buddha of bronze in a shimmering shawl. Diamonds of light on his robe softly gleam, As though he were carved from a meditating dream.
Poet on “The Bronze Buddha’s Whisper”
His eyes, gently lowered, never quite close, Hold secrets of stillness that nobody knows. A hand lifted upward, calm as the dawn, A promise of peace in a world always drawn.
When storms shake the mountains and thunder cries loud, The villagers gather though frightened and bowed; For inside the hall where the bronze Buddha rests, A silence expands in their trembling chests.
No voice ever speaks, yet a whisper is heard — Not sound, not echo, not any known word. But a feeling that rises like breath in the air: “Be steady,” it murmurs, “your peace is still there.”
And those who sit near him, in candlelit glow, Find the river of calm in their spirits slow. For the statue is silent, yet somehow it teaches That the softest of truths needs no voice when it reaches.
So the bronze Buddha sits as the seasons unfold, A guardian of quiet, serene and bold. A reminder to breathe, to listen within — Where still waters wait, and peace begins.
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