The Fakir's Symphony

The warrior amidst the battle, singing the song of the Truth.
Playing the symphony eternal,
There he strolls carefree - The Fakir.

With dirt on his clothes, hair in shambles,
Mud and dust on his face, dried is his throat,
But continues he sings, the song of his heart.
There he strolls - The Fakir.

All the twinkling stars up in the sky
And the curious Moon shining up high,
Wonders at the mystery hidden in his heart,
Giving way to the symphony and the Profound Trance!
There he strolls - The Fakir.

In the fond remembrance was he,
Meandering the memory lanes
Of those ageless stories of truth,
Which all think just folklores,
Those momentous sighs of the longing heart,
Which men dismiss just as gush of breath.
Those lightness of the naive heart,
Believing the illusion for the truth!
There he strolls - The Fakir.

Ages and eons passed by
For he was looking for his Beloved, out there in the world,
Trying to snatch and have that shadow for himself,
Only for himself - To have her for ever.
For sure he bumped upon idols, temples, signs and posts.

He mistook them for his Beloved.
Sometimes he believed he got Her. But then, she was again gone.
Like that luscious mirage eluding the thirsty traveller.

Till the Fakir, on one of those solitary strolls,
Lost in his fantasy of his Beloved,
Bumped onto his song! His own song!
From the inner chords of his own heart,
With the accompaniment of the beauty his own mind.
Now the Fakir strolls as the creator,
Eternally bonded in love with his beloved.
Invokes he, his Damsel,
At any time, at any place.
For he knows, his Beloved and he is One.
There is nothing outside there,
But all is within - Here and Now
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