I
Beneath my fractured dreams there lie,
My deepest fears. An anguished cry,
Breaks free from my troubled heart. I,
Restlessly watch the world go by.
A strange tattoo beats under my,
Skin. A ghostly voice echoes, “Why?
Why are we born? Why do we die?”
In response, the centuries sigh.
II
“But you are not the only one,”
They chorus, “Ever since the sun,
Has beaten down and earth has spun,
Man’s tried to go beyond the fun,
And games; attempted not to run,
Away from deeper meanings. Hun,
Or Eskimo, pagan or nun,
Soul-searching man has always done.
III
Belonging to that lonely band,
Of men who sought to understand,
The deep mysteries of Life and,
Death, was Gautama Buddha, who planned,
To go beyond the shifting sand,
Of what is and what is not. Land,
A family, a palace grand,
He had – but life was just too bland.
IV
But all that changed that winter day,
When morning dawned, all dull and grey,
Gautama found an old beggar lay,
By the roadside, whose sores did say,
“O! Pray for me, traveller! Pray,
Death, come, seize me without delay!
Or, to treat me, will someone stay?”
But the Prince hastened on his way.
V
Sores suppurated in his mind,
The Prince, who was gentle and kind,
Felt that what he had left behind,
Grew on him, left his forehead lined,
He could not bear the daily grind,
Leaving behind the ties that bind,
One evening, after he’d dined,
He left – his own way he would find.
VI
He lashed his body, cut a vein,
Attempted to go beyond pain,
Till he became almost insane,
He felt there was not much to gain,
From such acts, for they damaged brain,
And body too. He tried again,
Enlightenment he could attain,
At last – for mankind, a big gain.
VII
Let us pay tribute where it’s due,
Gautama found a path that was new,
For mankind, whom he sought to imbue,
With a sense of his own value,
We cannot all be Gautama – true,
Though his mantle will fall on few,
The inner search must continue,
Yes – it must ever continue!”
Underthetamarindtree 