I heard that an old man, one night, was alive,

At dawn, he raised his hands in need to the Divine.

A voice whispered in the old man’s ear,

‘Your prayers bear no fruit, take care of yourself here.’

‘Your prayer is not accepted at this door,’

‘Go in disgrace, or stand in sorrow evermore.’

The next night, he stayed awake in devotion,

A disciple heard and said, with emotion.

‘When you see that the door is closed for you,

Do not toil in vain, your efforts are few.’

He cried tears as bright as ruby’s glow,

And in regret, he wept and said, ‘O servant, woe!’

‘In despair, I once turned, alas, in vain,

I saw another path, but now it’s pain.’

‘Do not think, if his reins are broken now,

That I hold back from the snare’s grasp somehow.’

‘When the seeker is denied a door of grace,

What sorrow if another door he must face?'

I heard that no path exists in this street,

But no other path is there, none to greet.

In this, he laid his head, in sacrifice’s way,

And in his soul’s ear, a voice did say.

‘It’s accepted, though no skill is there to show,

For none but us, there is no refuge to know.’