Like an aloof ascetics
in the shade of the tree
fathers cottage beside,
while you slumbered
long like a dog in summer
chanting of seers
echoed near ear
trumpet of kings procession
coming closer and closer.
How could you rest in peace
O' son of peace.
For you had opinion budded in mind
the worst enemy
was being the son of a sage
from this deeper ground
you could not raise.
With the loin cloth
and unstitched cloak
You had to forage
was too much.
Sometimes
you had to
go bare
with no possession
for begging alms such.
Your mind and soul
did revolt
O'poet
the royal passion
and well dressed procession
passing by
not paying
heed of you,
though at the dog running after
cooked meat they threw.
Who're You
You thought then
among these women and men.
Why regret
for the boy of the past
all these have gone rust.
Why so repentance?
Why a penance?
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