What Is In A Profession?

He was a monk,
Of the holy rank,
So said everyone,
In that temple town.

He was very simple,
Sat before the temple,
Seldom spoke a word,
His voice, none heard.

His beard was found,
Just touching the ground,
That led them trust,
He was the holiest.

He was their deity,
Kept them in gaiety,
In a cloak of piety,
He earned their charity.

His eyes and ears,
Weren’t seen by others,
Fixed to a house,
Of his dream-spouse.

Near him was that house,
Of music and dance,
Of a famous damsel,
On her daily rehearsal.

Much against her will,
She did dance, still,
A life of austerity,
She lived, in totality.

They saw her dance,
But she was in trance,
To hear the melodies,
Of the musical temple bells.

Monk saw her beauty,
Not as his devotee.
Dancer felt his divinity,
Within her vicinity.

Both died one day,
As they went to pray,
Their bodies separated,
The souls departed.

The Heaven welcomed the soul
Of the dancing girl,
While the dark hell took
The soul of the monk.

To their question “Why? ”
They got this reply,
“God minds not profession,
But bows down before devotion.

by Rajaram Ramachandran

Comments (3)

The Heaven welcomed the soul Of the dancing girl, While the dark hell took The soul of the monk........ heaen always welcomes noble souls.. very good write.. i appriciate the efforts. read mine'Go to hell' and visit to hell'
Dear Sir, the popular story you took into your head or heart should I say and prettily painted into lovely, silky doll.
Lovely twist in the tale! you are a poem whose more of a storyteller.Love that quality of yours! Preets