On an elusive and endless road,
Carrying tons of sins as head load,
With a body that feels thorns on path,
A pilgrim progresses fearing God’s wrath.
Hearing crunch of stones underfoot,
Sometimes a forest owlet’s hoarse hoot,
Even time itself is iced up, frozen solid,
The pilgrim, so steadfast yet so stolid.
Wading through desert of sand dunes,
Gazing at sullen and dim Arabian moon,
To Kabah, metaphorical house of God,
The Holy ground his feet did trod.
Another one climbs summits of high cliffs,
Tunnels, channels, chasms and rifts,
Bound for Kailash, Lord Shiva’s abode,
Pushing on along the untrodden road.
But the distant shrine is so near to find,
Not seven seas apart, but in core of mind,
Allah, Christ and Shiva dwells there,
But thy mind to escape from snare.
Neither in Heaven not in earth,
Not in the wide world in it’s girth
But in the mind of a trekking pilgrim,
Find Him, O’ devotee, using thy wisdom.