In the silent hall of the ashram,
There sat the monks meditating,
Their postures perfectly lotussed,
Expressions of immobile serenity.
The visitors made overly alert
Of the necessity of silence, were
Afraid to breathe unconsciously,
Except for the visitor’s little lad.

He ran and ran, round and round,
His feet pattering in the hallway,
The monks effecting disturbance,
In unison said a loud ‘shhhhh’.
The kid shaken, all in a panic
Ran into the garden and started
To run and run, round and round
Lost himself to the nature there.

I spied God playing with the kid.
Surprised he chose the noisy kid
To the deep mediation of the monks.
The monks who get disturbed by
A mere child, isn’t worth noticing
It is so Self – vitalizing to play with
This little one, who has no pretenses
To be anyone else but a little child.