Buddha

As if he listened. Silence. Something far -

We pause but do not hear it anymore.

And he is star. And other mighty stars

That we do not perceive, surround his core.

Oh, he is all. And do we wait indeed

That he might see us? Should he be in need?

Though we dropped to the ground like wind-swept fruit,

He would stay deep and inert as a brute.

For what which tears us down before his feet,

Revolves in him for many millions years.

He who forgets that which to us appears,

And who beholds what censures our conceit.