The Guardian

A boy without sin, alongside his best friend—

each needing nothing, yet everything

flows between them. No expectation,

no debt. Only the joy

of a wagging tail, the silent pact

that life is better shared.

We think dogs to be an inferior race,

but their eyes hold a gospel

we have forgotten.

Their world is now, always now,

a hymn of presence

in a world bent on

what’s next.

They teach us

what it means to kneel

without shame, to rise

without anger.

Their forgiveness is a river

flowing unblocked, unbound—

a thing we call instinct

because we cannot fathom grace.

And when we falter, they stay,

the steadfast witness,

the silent confessor,

their paws pressing prayers into the earth

as if to anchor us when

our minds float too far

from home.

The boy grows, the dog greys.

Yet they remain, a covenant

etched in fur and skin.

The boy learns that happiness

is a warm companion

who asks for nothing

but the moment itself.

In their love, there is no ego,

no need to prove

or to earn.

We call them animals—

but could we ever live so free?

In the end,

it is not the leash but the loss

that binds us.

And when their time comes,

they leave us—

not broken, but

opened.

Who is the master?

Who is divine?

Perhaps the one who sees

no divide.