Beneath the Bodhi tree, Siddhārtha sat,
Heart aflame with questions, seeking truth’s mat.
Four noble truths unveiled, suffering’s core,
Eightfold path illuminated—our compass, our door.
Impermanence, like dewdrops on morning grass,
Attachment’s illusion—wisdom’s gentle pass.
Compassion, his heartbeat, echoed through time,
For all sentient beings—a universal rhyme.
Lotus blooms in mud, its roots unafraid,
Enlightenment’s promise, in each petal displayed.
Mala beads whisper, one breath at a time,
Mindfulness woven, awakening’s climb.
Dharmachakra spins, eight spokes unite,
Noble sangha gathers, compassion’s light.
Om Mani Padme Hum, mantra’s sweet hum,
Buddha’s wisdom blooms—a lotus, fully plum.
