The Sun In Pilgrim's Shrine. Poem by Subrata Ray

Thought and practice,
Practice and thought,
As a digger digs his well,
So you have wrought,
Your body and mind,
Into the level conscious green,
The dwelling of the soul in shrine,
On the lease of your vacation.

Bars around the plots of lands,
Evade and fade from mind's ego,
You vagabond go and go,
Dragging Time behind.

You cause virtue without your cause,
As mother's love blooms in us,
Like sun rays, you reflect,
Having no sensible touch.