O Buddha
You’ve become an idol
A beautiful one
In an equanimous pose
And I suppose
The buyers find you calm
and shining
The sellers find you profitable
You fill the stomachs
And niches and rooms
You make people jealous of yourself
When they fall in glooms.

But who cares?
Who cares what you spoke?
Who cares what you thought?
They just bought
Your idol
Unspeaking
For if it spoke you
You wouldn't be in those rooms
Your lips would be taped
You’d be broken into pieces
and wiped out with brooms.

Who cares
how deep you dived
into the ocean of curiosity?
with such velocity,
they fear they’d die
if they do the same.

So they accept your idol
Not you
which doesn’t speak you
which doesn’t reason
which is silent
in every season.