The yogi held his breath with dread
He knew too well the hum that he heard
“Oh no not now!!” he almost begged,
As the frightful needle kissed his nose
Upside down in the delicate pose,
He tried to stay calm and sought some sense,
As a shock spread out from his nose till his toes,
And blood oozed out from his throbbing cells
His limbs held back for his brain’s dictate
Like arrows eager to fly off bows
As he asked himself if he should wait,
“Should I wage war or keep the truce?”
At length, he heard a voice speak,
Calm and clear from across the hills,
Like a tranquil wind that sternly seemed
To hold the reins of his senses still,
“It’s wrong for a yogi to lose restraint,
Wise men of yore have thus ordained,
It’s his duty to keep his pose,
Whether earth rolls or storm blows”
The voice came nearer, in tranquil gait,
“Let not your mind be frail, nor your poise weak,
Be not tempted by distractions that bait,
Large or little, even the air that you breathe”
Begging to differ was a hoarse voice,
That seemed to grunt through hard-clenched teeth,
“What use is your control and all your poise
If you can’t defend against such malice?”
“Act! the limits of tolerance have reached,
The lines your patience have been breached,
The moves are yours to end this game
Victor or coward? You choose your name!”
His mind swung wild from discourse to discourse
Torn between extremes, he weighed each course
When all that while a pest drank his blood,
“Enough is enough!,” and thus more he said,
“This mischief should be punished
The laws of nature must be obeyed,
Lions must hunt and fish must swim,
This fly must die, it’s time is done!”
With stealthy resolve he lifted his arm,
And slowly brought it in place for strike,
In one swift motion he slapped on his face,
Right at the spot where the insect grazed
His neck shifted on the sudden impact,
His body swayed this way and that,
He tried to stay upright in his fragile stance,
It was soon proving to be a hopeless dance.
The insect’s moves were a little better,
Quick as wind she was out of the way,
Her tricks were sharp and well prepared,
Much unlike her hapless prey
Arms and legs flung wild around,
Bones and joints strained all about,
With a crashing thud, he hit the ground,
The game was up, he’d been knocked out
As he lay injured counting many a star,
All arms and legs and a twisted neck,
He heard faint laughs from voices afar,
And waited, helpless, for the hum was back…
