Thousands of years ago,
Frightened by his turbulent emotions,
He had closed his eyes and turned inwards –
Cursing the beautiful, renouncing the material.
He claimed an inner light that only he could see,
Hidden truths that only he could grasp,
A serenity that was an escape from pain
But where lingered anxiety that gnawed him always.
There were a few who saw through his deceit,
But many more were they who wanted to believe,
So they created a myth of his supernatural powers –
Called him enlightened, and lived in his awe.
Today he is no less slovenly and pungent,
His unwholesome dirt cannot be washed by Ganges.
The songs he chants have lost their music,
But something around him has changed and touched him.
The torch of reason he had helped to snuff out,
Came again from the west and still glows about.
His own holy fire gave way to the joys of bidis,
As he talks to others with his new cellular beads.
