In the temple Thou art amidst plenty of adornments, decorations and multicoloured beautiful garments, my Lord!
Out Thou standest at the temple door amidst all deprivations, in the ugly, tattered, scanty loin-cloth.
In the temple Thou art amidst all magnificence, dazzling gold and jewellery.
Out at the corridor Thy hand is outstretched for a copper coin from the passers by.
In the temple Thou art served in sumptuous delicacies, Thy devotees thronging round Thy idol, offering flowers at Thy feet and singing in Thy praise, bathing Thee in the sacred water of the Ganga.
A bony frame of starvation and misery, out Thou standest at the temple door.
Spurning and scorning Thee at the sight of Thy begging bowl and stretched palm, the long line of devotees pass out the temple door.
In the temple devotees sing Thy hymns and damsels dance in glee.
Out at the temple door abuses are hurled at Thee, poverty and starvation stalk round Thee.
In the temple Thy form fascinates the mind but does not reveal to all alike.
Out at the door it transcends the innermost recesses of the heart, touched the very depths of the conscience and snakes the soul.
My Lord, incomprehensible is Thy duality.
Yet I am allured to bow to Thee and worship Thee at the temple door
where Thou standest – a figure of poverty and deprivation, misery and starvation, scorn and degradation – with Thy begging bowl and outstretched palm.
- Shri Yogeshwarji