A Buddha Under A Tree (A Poem)

I wonder where we’d be without the judgment of others. I wonder what we would look like. Who would we be?

I think I’d be a Buddha sitting under a tree.

In a world that’s gone crazy
A crowd stops by my home
They stare at a sight
They have never quite known.
I’m sitting in stillness 
Tattered clothes on my back
I’m full of contentment
Yet all they see is I lack.
They laugh and they shout
As I sit under my tree
“Get a job you old bum,
You need to be more like me!”
With a snort and a laugh 
They will surely all scurry
They have deadlines to meet
And lives full of worry.
And while we hustle and bustle
In the new cars we buy
We ignore the things
That survive when we die.
Yet in sitting and loving
And being so dull
What was closed is now open
An empty cup is now full.
 This tree blocks the sun 
On the hottest part of the day
The fruit falls from its branches
To the soft grass where I lay.
The rain softly caresses 
My skin and my hair,
And while I choose to sit still
There is nothing keeping me there.
I’ll smile in silence
A withered hand I’ll extend
There is nothing to lose
When everything is your friend.
The clouds will float by
The seasons will change,
The clock will strike zero
What was real will seem strange.
And on my last breath
This old man will have shown
There was nothing he’d lost
In the life he had known.
But for now I will sit
A man trying to see
That brave part of himself
That sits under a tree.
Homeless Person on Park Bench
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