The Triumph Of Contentment. Poem by Subrata Ray

The Triumph Of Contentment.
Once upon a time,
There lived a mendicant monk,
Tattered was his attire,
And he begged singing Almighty’s song.

In his palm-leaved hut,
He had least articles for use,
A brick to lay head, a torn mat to sleep,
And an edge-broken earthen pot to drink.

The gracious king heard, the monk’s plight,
‘No, no, no, ‘ he exclaimed! , ’It is not right,
I must provide enough subsistence to him ,
And in a moment I would ride.’

It was a morning of a promising Spring,
The king entered into the hut without intimating,
The monk rose and prayed the king to take his room,
Upon the ragged mat, by washing it with faggot boom.

Neither came hesitation, for fear,
Though the king was in the torn mat there.

The Highness of the king began to speak,
.How you dare to live so poor, and weak,
I am King, my assistance, you never did seek,
Your life style dishonours me and my subjects,
And here in I find a living abject.
I would provide you ten acres of land, bull and cow,
Two men servants to serve you and the land plough,
And above all a brick built home, and a pond to bathe,
In my kingdom please live in happiness, and mirth’

The poor monk said, ‘Most revered Maharaj,
How you dare to employ your urge,
For your riches, I had the greatest respect to you,
So poor a mind you possess, never, never, I knew.
I have no conception that I am poor,
Though I beg from door to door,
My dictionary is without the meaning of ‘want’,
So why I would allow your ego, and worldly fund.
For the survival of this body I beg from the living gods,
In all of them, lives my Almighty Lord.
Again, they, you and me, all are beggars in this earth,
We are sent to be contented by since our birth ‘.