The chirping birds in their nests rush,
That brings in the ambience a holy hush,
The candles and incense the devouts ignite,
With sounds of prayers the houses reverberate.
In his full home,
He is all alone,
A man pious yet weak,
Is bedridden, he is sick.
Neither prayers, nor offerings
Nor appeasing God, relieved his sufferings.
Hark! Clad in white, some one enters,
To alleviate suffering, medicines he delivers.
Goes away expecting nothing in return,
And never to come again!
Can anyone tell, by whom was he sent?
Or whence he came, and whither he went?
