The Buddha has two faces:
One smiles, in silence,
seemingly
unaware,
definitely
unconcerned
with the platitudes
and umbrages
of thought as it
blows
in the wind
seemingly
content
to let
the lime unpeel
itself.
The other one too, seems to
merely
watch
though it
cares deeply
about
the suffering
that
must be
hidden
in the clay
of faces
and the
silence that becomes,
when
the hysterics
and
sermonettes
have
ended
inevitable.
There are two boats on the river:
In one the silence is
the
quiet
that every
thing is,
In the other the silence is
pure
grief.