Once lived a proud and happy prince
in a palace too grand and fine.
‘Bout sadness and pain he knew not;
He knew to drink from nine to nine.
It is said that the God Himself
descended on Earth, took Ram’s form;
Was made to suffer hard we hear
by those who willed to break the norm.
Ram would soon have Ayodhya ruled
had He not been sent into exile;
He dwelt in woods for years fourteen
with his wife and brother agile.
Fourteen nights he spent at the Himalayas great,
each night speaking about one world;
He touched topics good and bad, spoke at length of fate;
A ‘secret’ the last day unfurled.
‘We have our souls quite well covered
by a layer we all call body,’ he declared.
Then as if smitten by thoughts, roared:
Life’s uncertain, what matters is now, not how you fared.
The dad elated beamed with pride,
went ahead to make a point.
‘Your worth’s fixed at the right place,
and that’s my sole viewpoint.’