Salvation

Dedicated to all who were maimed in the December 6th blast at Varanasi.

Travelled he has, the distances of a great land;
Orange robes and sacred ashes his only possessions.
Begged for food, craved he wisdom;
Knowledge eternal to survive the mortal shell.

Callused his feet, found solace at temples and shrines,
hunger, satiated by nourishment from kind strangers.
The rebukes and the sneers, he had smiled through ;
Days and night, warm and cold, seasons left him marked.

Many years on, the banks of the Ganges he sees,
His joy known no bounds, tears run down in streaks.
"jai Ma Gange" chants he, raises his arms in praise,
Ran like a little child to his mother.

Spends his hours, meditating on the banks,
Closed eyes, steadfast in thought.
the noise and the movement around do not bother him;
For the rustle of the Ganges meandering is the only sound he can hear.

The morning aarti, his start of the day,
his material offering to the holy flow.
He held the flame and whirled it round,
Obeisance to the Water flowing down.



And loud, Hell opened up,
Shards of clay sprayed around.
Pandemonium reared its head and laughed,
And scared legs scatter all around

Loses his balance, the flame, goes tumbling
Trampled under a rain of feet.
unable to raise his arm,
unable to finish his prayer.

When the anarchy silenced down
The ripple of the waves was the only voice heard
he was bleeding from the cuts and scars
a river of red originating from him

All his life, he had prayed for salvation
meditated for knowledge,to be one with ether.
Prayed to the Ganges to bless his final journey
And promise him eternal salvation.

Saw he, his blood, rolling down the stairs,
and be one with the crystal River.
Dissolve in what he held holiest,
and resolve his quandary.

Summoned all his will and strength,
and all his humility he could muster.
He said "O Mother, take me with you"
"And lead me to salvation".