At The Temple Poem by Vidya Pandarinath

He sat there his back
Inclined to the stray
Weather-worn pillar
His rags - a dirty torn
Loose top he had worn -
Looked like an old miller;
Scarce did he look to pray
Or regard anyone along the track

Bright eyes, ofcourse:
And a hidden nose
Were all one could view
In his whole being;
My eyes casually fell
On the old-man; I can tell
He could have been seeing
The world across dark hue;
Pity prompted me and I chose
To stretch a coloured note by force

' Nay! ' said he with his full palm,
Rose and shook his head
' I have left everything and everyone
' Much far behind and beyond '
I stood gazing at the pond,
He slouched towards in the parching sun.
Were all his people, for him, dead?
And yet he is so firm and calm!

Minutes passed as I stood
Between the temple and fading him;
It dawned on me: crazy act
To offer money - nay coloured chit:
He least cared for or wanted it.
How sad and bad a fact
It is to feel pomp and overbrim
With some gold, and rich hood!