Walking by four men aside
In mist in fog, the calmness rides.
I ask the four men in white fur " To where we go ? "
Covered in grey clothes, we walk and go.
I look at the sky, the heaven’s bless !
I ask the men they do not convey,
We walk the far flung mountains of Himalayas,
We walk on the earthly roads,
Silence silence but joy in air,
Cold oh cold the winter’s cold,
We reach a house with white walls,
We bow down and look at walls,
A yogi in blue !
Calm and still,
The aura so great we can’t blink,
I ask the men, what are those five hands ?
For a moment, I visit hell in the priests eye,
How dare he ? Who ask what the great is !
One by one we blessed by hands,
The touch so divine my heart melts,
The joy felt can’t be described,
Who knows the sense of the holy touch what angles define ?
The yogi goes,
I ask the four men again - Was it shree hanuman ?
The priest says “blessed be who called upon to receive such divine touch”
The legends await to see the divine,
You may be a friend or loved devotee to be called upon,
His touch may wash a thousand sins,
The devils have waited for thee
You be called upon is a mystery.