'Oh, Lord! By morn, I blossom,
by Rajaram Ramachandran
And by eve, I wither,
Then, of what use, I'm? '
Cried the fluttering flower.
'Oh, No! Beautiful Colors,
With sweet little honey,
And enchanting fragrance,
Haven't you, in plenty? '
'Isn't a bunch of yours
Makes one beautiful garland,
To rest O'er My shoulders,
Also a bouquet in My hand? '
'Don't you bear the fruit,
Rich in its sweetness,
That others may eat,
For their own happiness? '
'You'll adorn My bosom, '
At the end, said the Lord,
' When, by morn, you bloom, '
As He smiled and consoled.
Like this came, in turn,
To know its meaningful existence
One by one, of the Lord's creation,
As He heard its grievance.
The tree, that offers its fruits,
Takes the heat of the Sun,
And a shady temple, it builds
For the Lord, to live in.
The Cow gives its milk,
For the Lord's over head bath.
The Worm offers its silk,
For His embroidered clothe.
The Deer spares its musk,
As a perfume, air borne,
And the Elephant, its tusk,
To beautify His throne.
The Peacock gives its feathers,
To adorn the Lord's Crown,
As a seat of colorful plumes,
To the delight of everyone.
The Yak's long golden hair,
Bristled inside a silver handle,
Fans the Lord with cool air,
Mixed with the flavor of sandal.
The bamboo stick with holes,
Played in the Lord's soft hands,
Mesmerizes all the living beings,
Spell bound by the musical sounds.
The mother earth gives,
Gold, Silver and what not,
That all her bountiful riches,
Go to make His ornament.
Now came the man's turn,
For him to say, what to offer?
As nothing, on him, was grown,
Excepting his long hair.
Before the Lord, he fell and cried,
'Ho, Lord! My ego rests on my hair,
That, to Thee, when offered,
My 'Self' becomes pure and fair.'
'Why, unlike Thy other creation,
I've nothing, in me, to offer Thee,
Except my love and affection?
From bondage, liberate myself free.'
The Lord consoled the man at last,
Blessing him, with His hands raised,
'Of all the creations, you're the best,
Yes, it's true, ' the most Merciful said.
'You're born with a pair of limbs,
Also a sixth sense, to think and act
For you to lead the lesser beings.
In the world of creations, in fact.'
'It's your hands, that move the flower,
To reach and touch My Lotus feet.
It's your skill, that makes a tower,
Of glory and success to its height.'
'With the power of your muscle,
And with the power of your voice,
For Me, you can build a castle,
And can sing ever in praise of Me'
'It's your love for all the beings,
That makes Me ever happy,
While your hate for others,
Keeps Me most unhappy.'
'Keep this world of paradise,
Spreading the message of love,
As beautiful as an abode of peace,
That's the best way for you to serve.'
Thus spoke the Supreme Lord,
Cheering all His creations,
And went back to His abode,
Showering His merciful Blessings.