I have no muses flame, I'm unknown to fame,
I know 'His' name, its my humble claim.
Ram's peaens I sing to my lore,
Can't fathom, with wavy froth of my mind, from shore.
Realizing His glory is infinitive,
My mind wavers to proceed with narrative.
All ineffabble is the sway of Ram,
Yet, I feeble must not leave chance to say of Ram.
The One, only one with no form or name,
He is ultimate bliss and the final aim.
To hallow my tongue, in mellow mood,
I sing sweet paeans, tho' my words are too crude.
Know not any text, little know of Veds,
My stubborn pencil, colours the page, yet.
Scriptures, Veds, texts are fathomless ocean,
And my Lord on other shore stay unseen.
Couplet :      Over Vast and deep Main,
Once a bridge is built
With no toil even an ant,
Can cross over it.
Solacing my soul in many such ways,
Sweet narrative of All time I portray.
Ancient and recent bards are my sires,
They may bless me, for what I aspired.
Before old muses ray and laureates of today,
As well I bow, to laureates of coming days.
I pray Kaliage, the uncivil era,
Where, this narrative is panacea.
Brahma, The Creator of the blessings and blemish,
Who created my dull mind and in it a high wish.
I bow to Him, His creation and His creating hands,
With one who made boon and with other the bane.
Who is my sire and the sire of my desire,
Who created Ganges , at the same, the mire.
My mind is crazed in this frame of garbage,
Me, the man of straw, walk on the path maze.
Couplet :     But the potential in garbage
From Seasons and seasons of penance,
Becometh manure, an asset
Which is blossom’s fragrance.
There is possibility even in the garbage,
So I am assured of His grace.
The mystery spelt by Shiv in 'Sabar Mantra',
Hath sharp majesty, tho' in muses are blunt.
May Shiv in me and in these verses dwell,
And create in the Epic the same spell.
May Lord Shiv initiate me inly,
May I be wise enough to see my folly.
Tho' Moon is stained but serene are its rays,
My mind is stained, may bring pure lays.
Even as chilly Himalaya hath warm cataracts,
May my cold limericks have warmth of faith.
May mind, thro' His grace be excelled,
Which is seasoned to make nothing but doggerels
May, my slumbering pencil on the blank pages,
Dance enthralled with the epic's verses.
Couplet :      The serene rays, from holy planes, Impregnated with His paeans.
May brighten my conscience,
and very sense of hymns become séance.
Inly = inwardly, lays=poems; Doggerels=worth-less verses