The Deliverer

THE DELIVERER

He was young of age
With withered, hollow cheeks
With furrows like
Knife-gashes.
A cripple,
Agonizingly bent.

He was found
On the pavement,
As a child,
Abandoned,
A victim of unutterable
Penury.

He slept under the sky,
Counted stars
Countless times.
Rummaged garbage bins
To keep hunger at bay,
To keep together his soul
And his accursed crooked body...
A prison.

What is this quirk of fate
That blesses some
And curses others?

One day,
Beset with illness
A fever raged
In his defenceless body.
Alone, all alone,
He moaned.
He prayed.

A kindly man
Came and said I'll take care.
The cripple thanked,
And asked who he was.
The man said,
They call me the deliverer
I will lead you to peace and happiness
And release you from this prison.

With untold joy
With a spring in his gait
Not a cripple anymore
Away from the prison
The soul then flew away
Like a bird set free
By The Deliverer.

~ Krishna ~

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