Floating Prayers
(Myanmar)
My pencil hummed today—
a quiet, golden tune.
When I looked down,
the page had turned into a lake of light.
Pagodas began to rise,
their tops glinting like sunrise caught in gold.
The pencil moved slowly,
almost reverently,
drawing each curve as if it were a bow to the sky.
Then came a secret from its whisper:
the Shwedagon Pagoda
is said to hold eight strands of Buddha’s hair.
Eight threads of peace,
woven into the city’s breath.
I drew them as floating prayers,
tiny, weightless, glowing softly above the spires.
When I signed the page,
the gold shimmered faintly,
though I had used no color.
The pencil just winked—
some light, it said,
comes from the heart, not the lead.
✨ If your pencil could draw light, what shape would peace take?