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The Wandering Yogi 

From city to city, from every  town to town
Catching every smile to smile, every frown to frown.
His allegiance goes to the exalted one, not any nobility nor the crown.
The mysterious venture itself is a compass – forever trailing up and down. 

He vision’s more to the sandstorm than just the sands might. 
What he really seeks is the commandeering winds, hidden from man’s sight. 
For he is like a moth, forever trying to follow the mystical light. 
A servant of humanity, here to douse out ones fiery plight. 

The mystical light to him, is like the sweet essence of nectar to a bee
His journey has no fragrant flower to guide the way, only his heart must see.
The burden of Caste, Creed and Colour cannot weigh him down – forever he is free.
These bitter ingredients are for his pestle and mortar, mixed together to serve he. 

Always alert, always ominous. Wary of the treacherous thorns. 
Even the smallest prickle can poisonously permeate – towards the path of the one with horns. 
Decorating his path to God for others to follow – moving on as he adorns. 
And for those who have permanently set their ship astray – he shall set up half mast, for he mourns. 

From sunrise to sunset. From a healthy youth to a venerable age.
Adhering to his spiritual principals. A beacon of knowledge – a mystical sage. 
Until he reaches his beloved, his only shelter against this life is faith and a hermitage. 
Walking steadfast on an arduous journey of pain and languish – travelling away from life’s cage.  The Wandering Yogi.


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