Hefty, puffy, Paramahamsa walks
Unconcerned, naked, with smile as he shocks
As nasty kids pelt him with stones, he runs
Laughing at his wounds, `Ah, my Lord has fun!'
Enters Mothers shrine; Her name loudly speaks;
At his fervent chant, temple wall shakes
Beggars shun him, eats with friendly stray dogs
From leftover leaves standing amidst bogs
Nother of same kind watches intently
`Ah, a perfect soul, I too be like thee ?'
His kin, for a word, after him goes he
The man throws stones, but persists our Hriday
`Ganga and gutters when thou see the same way'
Says he, `thou has had thy knowledge that day'
Nasty kids pelt him with stones
Runs, laughs at his wounds
Ah, my Lord has fun
13/6/2002; 9.30 p.m. straight into computer
No comments:
Post a Comment