The Forgotten Face of the Buddha

-

There he sat in a silent corner,  
Perched atop a wooden ledge,  
Amidst showpieces and photo frames—  
A random collection  
Hailing from different places  
Across different times,  
Each with a story of its own.  

His face, white and pure,  
Made of glistening stone, 
Held an alluring charm,  
Instilling a sense of profound calm.  

His eyes were closed  
All the time,  
Lost in deep meditation,  
While a sweet smile lit up his face.  

An air of mystery surrounded him—  
As if he knew  
All that was happening around him.  
Yet, he observed in silence,  
His wisdom reflected in  
A mystical, knowing smile,  
As though assuring us  
That it will all be fine in the end.  

Not a day passes  
Without a glance at this corner,  
Perhaps even accidental,  
At this epitome of peace,  
As he watches quietly over us.  

The drama, the highs, the lows—  
He witnesses it all,  
Life unfolding before him,  
Nuances intact.  

And no matter what,  
That heavenly smile never fades.  
Perhaps this is his way  
Of imparting wisdom so profound,  
As we struggle to maneuver  
The path of karma.  

There is something truly magical  
About his serene presence,  
His aura, ever so divine,  
Illuminating each day  
With an abundance of positivity  
And a glow of hope.  

I still vividly remember  
The day I brought him home—  
The moment I saw him,  
I was spellbound,  
Truly captivated  
By his demeanor.  

I can't say why…  
But all I knew at the time  
Was that he belonged in our lives.  
And before I even realized,  
I was carrying him home,  
Safely wrapped in brown paper.  

The world may sing his praises  
And have different versions  
Of his story to share,  
Revering his greatness,  
But to me...  

He shall always be...  

My abode of peace,  
Instilling calm and clarity  
With his silent presence,  
Gracing our humble home,  
In his quiet way, every day.  

The Forgotten Face of the Buddha. 


________________________________________

Author’s Note

Bought, adorned, forgotten!

There are certain collectibles in our homes—some carefully chosen, others acquired on a whim—that silently travel with us through life. They settle into corners, becoming part and parcel of our everyday existence, witnessing our joys and struggles, the highs and the lows. They watch as time weaves its stories around them, drowning in the background of our busy lives.  

Yet, despite their quiet presence, some of them leave an impact so profound, so deeply ingrained in our subconscious, that we fail to notice just how much they shape our days. This poem is about one such presence—forgotten, yet never truly absent.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

From Dusk Till Dawn

-
Image
It was just another night at Westin’s Colony, a residential area comprising around fifty houses, nestled away from the hustle and bustle of the town. People lay awake on their beds, some reading, some watching television, some tucking their little ones in bed and shushing them to sleep, and some casting occasional glances at the bedroom window that faced the street. In some time, a sharp noise, accompanied by a shrilly voice, was heard all over the neighbourhood, “Clang! Clang! Clang! Ayo Goka!” And strangely, like clockwork, the lights went out, the sounds died down, and a blanket of silence descended over the locality. Sebu’s footsteps echoed softly on the pavement as he moved through the colony. The chilly night air wrapped around him like a familiar blanket, and the rhythmic tap of his bamboo stick against the metal gates became the neighborhood’s lullaby. A tall, lanky figure, clad in a beige uniform and a heavy jacket, strolled the streets with a bamboo stick in hand....
Read more

Not a Pleaser!

-
Image
Oh, please! Stop.   I'm done—   I’m done with your empty words.   Your praises,   I shan't sing,   Your petty ego,   I shan't fuel.   Let’s face it—   The truth,   The bitter, hard truth.   No more sweeping   Under the carpet.   You’re not even half the person   You claim to be.   Narcissistic, pompous,   Retarded and cold,   Self-centered, self-obsessed.   Through your eyes,   I will no longer look—   Not at myself,   But at the shadow you tried to cast.   For I am ME.   My self-image is no longer dictated   By your toxic beliefs.   That’s enough of your gaslighting, mate.   Let’s call it quits.   Your relentless gloating,   I won’t hear it—   You’re an empty vessel, ...
Read more

The Wayfarer Lamps

-
Image
To all the heroes every child’s first, yet so often unsung here’s to celebrating YOU. For all that you’ve done, for all that you do, for simply being there... for just being you. Quietly staying in the shadows, away from the limelight, away from the noise being the silver lining behind every dark cloud, holding back tears, spreading warmth, and reminding us of the light when all we see is dark. Here’s to celebrating this incredible human we’re lucky enough to call, DAD. Happy Father’s Day! — AeVey J ________________________________________ Author's Note: The Wayfarer Lamps  - A Father’s Day Tribute by AeVey J Fatherhood is often the quieter story, the one without grand declarations, but filled with steady love and silent sacrifices. This piece is for those men who don’t seek applause, yet shape our worlds with quiet grace. If you’re reading this and thinking of someone - your father, a mentor, a father figure - share it with them. Let them know they’...
Read more