Friday, 4 November 2022

Sunday, October 30, 2022

Winnipeg, Manitoba

Last Day in Winni

Winnipeg has so few hills, but since I arrived, I have been contemplating and shaping up a poem about a hill, Govardhana, which is held sacred in India, attracting people from all over the globe. The poem:


The Living Hill


The god of rain, Indra, became extremely irate

Pride is often the big part of his game

With thunder, clouds and lightning so great

He exerts this power to maintain fame


What incited him so was a talkative child

Who put his village on a paradigm shift

Instead of a day to honour a god so wild

The boy proposed a new direction, creating the rift


The boy was opposed to the poor watering this god does

That rivers, lakes, oceans already have a supply

That he’s off target which should cause one to pause

“Better to honour the green hill nearby


We benefit from its many grasses and plants

Food for our animals and food for us

To the hill, cows and brahmans we give thanks

With a feast and a fest with so little fuss”


The villagers agreed to this new concept

But the god of rain was vengeful indeed

In response to the boy’s challenging precept

Indra released his weapons with speed


The downpour of rain was very devastating

It came down like cold, wet pillars of pain

The cries for help were unhesitating

The boy acted swiftly with ease and no strain


Placing his hands at the base of the hill

And working his way under the heavy mound

He lifted it with the valour of a hero’s thrill

While under its shelter came souls from all around


The deluge of water lasted seven long days

Amazed and saved were inhabitants of the town

Who were spared of shameful Indra’s craze

As the boy’s incredible feat put his pride down


All was restored to normal for a day in the life

A jealous god was humbled, all were happy too

As well as the living hill that became so light

By the strength of the boy, Krishna, of a dark hue


Our story hails from five millenia past

When Krishna was offered a deserved arm massage

The volume of miracles continues to last

By Govardhan hill, which is not a mirage

-          Composed by Bhaktimarga Swami, The Walking Monk©


May the Source be with you!



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