To town,
from town.
Clay patta,
saffron civara.
Smoothened walking stick,
the companion of the unlonely
alone.
Downhill,
uphill.
Through clouds,
through fog.
Soles worn,
robes tattered.
Wake, rise...
Weary, rest...
This flesh, in truth,
the begging bowl
we each were issued....
Read the rest...