Whispers Of Fall, Echoes Of Buddha Poem by Natasa To

Leaves drift down like silent thoughts,

Unclinging, golden, letting go—

Each a sutra in the wind,

Each a flame turned soft and low.



The maple bows in quiet grace,

Robed in crimson, robed in fire.

The air is still. The world exhales.

Desire sleeps; so too, desire.



In forest hush, the Buddha sits,

A statue carved from breath and stone.

Around him, time forgets to move,

The self dissolves, and all is known.



No clamor here, no striving hand,

Just wind and leaf and fading sun.

The truth of fall, the dharma told:

All things arise, then come undone.



A squirrel scurries, mindful, free—

Not chasing gain, nor fearing loss.

And Buddha smiles beneath the tree,

As autumn paints the world with loss.



But oh, what beauty loss can hold—

A thousand hues in one release.

To love, then lose, then love again—

In falling leaves, we find our peace.