P. Sudhakaran
There is the Buddha, walking in silence,
not away from the world but through it.
Each step arrives with care,
no panting, no preaching.
There is the messenger of peace, unarmed,
walking with time, carrying no flag
except the human heart.
They desire nothing, dream nothing for themselves.
Their only dream is that the world
may unlearn its hunger for blood.
They walk so that you, wherever you stand,
whatever tongue you speak,
may remember how peace feels
inside the body.
And there is the dog, small,
walking with them, not behind, not ahead,
but beside.
It knows no doctrine.
It knows no nations.
Yet it walks as light walks,
present, unclaiming, without shadow.
Empires shout. Markets tremble.
Generals rehearse their futures.
The war-mongers bark.
The dog of peace walks on,
speaking silence,
living a language older than borders.
