Bazi alis Subrata Ray
To The Lotus Feet Of Mahapurush Maharaj (Swami Shivananda)
The vagabond never opened the book of good and evil,
No such scaling thought could enter, breaking the seal,
For those were out of work for worship,
A look fixed, a tears oozing heart, he keeps,
And a will-less will for Master’s will he reaps.
The vagabond went a-haunted for a bondless bond,
No senses of the body, save its temple’s Honor, he had,
In black tempest or in spring-oozed sunny valley,
He kept alive his burning Mad, the appetite-less appetite.
The Vagabond’s Master,
The Miraculous Duster,
Was Himself the Lab and its Researcher,
All truths unknown, to Him were shown,
And the mile-stones of His synthesis,
That came out from his practice,
He poured and impelled in His followers.
The Vagabond could prove Himself as the son of His Father,
The incarnation of Mahapurush, as Vivekananda and others.
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