Bazi alis Subrata Ray
The Poor Brahmin And The Richest Touch Stone - Poem by Bazi alis Subrata Ray
The tales of the Brahmins In ancient India speaks of sacrifice,
They lead a life on begging, austerity, and no compromise.
Family men they were as the highest of social stations,
People received them with reverence and occult administration.
Once a Brahmin for his daughter’s marriage met a sage,
And with bowed head wished his help, for the privilege.
The sage gave the Brahmin the address of his master –mystic,
So that the Brahmin may, have the allowance, if His help he seeks.
Went on feet, rivers, forest, deserts and so many treads, ,
And at last by the calm Ganges, he found the sage’s retreat.
What he saw was a cultivated –meditation deep,
The sage was dipping in tranquil sweep.
When His closed eye lids budded a glance,
The Brahmin felt the quaking trance.
He submitted his cause, and wished His grace,
The sage smiled, remembered, and gave a trace.
Oh! That touch-stone, once I got on my way,
And threw that, amidst that sands, you get may.
The Brahmin, after a vehement search found the Stone,
And with its touch, all turned gold, as it virtue was shown.
With joy of impossible the Brahmin stepped homeward,
And now wealth profuse, -which once was barred.
But what wealth the sage has got to think this as trivial one!
What joy to Him has proved this world as meaningless fun.
No! I would go , bow, and knell, and pray to him for a bit of that treasure,
Perhaps that presence of unborn-, ancient, eternal one, that knows no measure!
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