the madman hunts for the touchstone
his hair a matted heap browned by dust and mud
his body a grey shadow
his lips hide a smouldering fire that his eyes reveal
like fireflies searching in the dark by their own light
he has no sheltering home
no one to ask for him, no one to call his own
no clothes even, except for a rag covering his modesty
more miserable than a beggar is he
yet what audacity!
he turns down gold-silver-king’s treasure
all for a magic touchstone
ridiculous isn’t he!
the ocean roars ruthless
wave upon wave simper at the madman
the sky stares blinkless
the wind charges ahead
and the eastern sky changes from sunrise to moonrise
while the waters flow endless
speaking in riddles of where the treasure lies
only they who know the language can find the spot
the indifferent ocean listens to its own song
while on the shore,
some arrive, some leave, some laugh, some moan
and yet the madman still searches again and again
for his precious touchstone
ancient legend has it that eons ago,
when the first sun rays revealed our Creation
gods and demons in utter wonder stood at this shore
heads bowed, eyes unblinking, lips silent,
and listened for a long time to the hum of the ocean
then they disappeared into its depths to unravel
the eternal mystery that churns within
until years later, Goddess Lakshmi,
the beauteous Goddess of Wealth and Prosperity,
emerged on this very shore
where now,
the wretched madman searches high and low
for his cherished touchstone
in recent days, his desire has dimmed
but he goes on without a break,
driven not by lust, but by force of habit
like
the lonesome bird that trills all night,
restless, sleepless,
but no mate ever joins her
or like
the ocean that sends waves above,
relentless, hopeless,
but its love never touches the sky
thus the madman on that shore
searches for his elusive touchstone once more
one day the village boys rush to him
“hey yogi, what shines at your waistline,
how did you find this chain of gold so fine?”
the yogi is startled,
he looks, rubs his eyes and looks again
what miracle is this!
the iron chain around his waist
had transmuted to gold, god knows when!
he collapses to the ground with a wail,
beats himself insane,
out of unseeing habit he would click
each rock, pebble and stone that he would pick
against the iron chain that had now turned gold!
oh my lord, there are no words to say,
he had held dream and tossed it away!
then when
the setting sun painted the sky bright gold
the flowing ocean made the water molten gold
the changing horizon seemed a bride’s dream of gold,
the yogi dragged his steps along the path he’d already trod
his heart drooping like a tree that had been felled
the old journey stretching like death without end
the landscape a dreary desert, even more dismal in the
fading light
half a lifetime spent in the quest
that was gained for but an instant
now the other half of his lifetime he dedicates once more
to hunt again for the lost touchstone by the shore
