He came from a family of highland
Who knows, perhaps he is a vagabond!
But he can’t from his passion abscond
Horse ride is his sole obsession
For long he kept his soul in repression
Alas! He had none in his possession
For a buxom horse he loses his discretion
And tends towards transgression
He found his métier in well poised equestrian
The entrenched delinquency he can’t abstain
The thrill
of ride needs larceny clandestine
Stolen guavas, horses keep him on cloud nine.
When he on streets of Berwikshire ramble
The glimpses of buxom horses are ample
At
the sight of a horse his heart throbs
his frenzy appetite mobs, his spirit bobs.
Many
a horse he desired most to wangle
But Alas! They with their jockeys amble.
He rode many a Morgan,
Haflinger
They still in his mind linger
and linger
Yet his stinger appetite nie
malinger
At the sight of a buxom horse his heart throbs
his frenzy appetite mobs his spirit of riding bobs.
He coveted a lavish warm blood
breed
which dressage and obeisance
heed.
His passion is unruly he could not kill it cruelly
He couldn't his passion feed he hasn't had steed
but his inner voice cried horse ride cuz it's a pride
The winter adds to hunger, he could a horse eat
The wagon rests in winter, the sleigh in summer,
but the horse rests never, so stopped not his endeavor
He eyed the king's black horse at the Roxburgh fort
With Tweed and Teviot one
either side it's a moat
The fort's deadly and terrible,
the horse's incredible,
He then crosses Teviot and
views the splendid castle
on the Kelso confluence the
bulwark poses a hassle
The moat and the battlement
challenge his gallant spirits
But he is Knight at arms he has
the guts so he never quits
The battlement is only architecture
that demands adventure
He swims the moat s in
crocodile hide in the night's silence
and forcefully shoots the javelin with a rope, at the merlons
When the moon 's behind clouds
climbs up through crenels
Springs quick as lightening he
the solitary guard sets on.
He hides behinds the bushes
until guard at stable hushes
The steed seemed sleeping his
tension seemed deepening
The steed comes out of slumber or not is a big dilemma
To walk or ride the steed out
of fort is a bigger enigma
He remembered talking to horses with touch and charisma
The never failing mantras he mastered from Aswahridaya.
Two gentle strokes the black
steed is ready and stiff
The kight mounted gently,
he could her mane sniff
The horse trotted gently clip
.. clop .. clip.. clop..
The wooden bridge on the moat a
few paces away
She has energy and will. He
felt the lust and skill
They both reached the fort gate
in the blink of eye
Her hooves sounded twice doc
toc.. doc toc ...
They crossed the wooden bridge,
went towards the cliff.
The galloping begins...
There is a a very deep science behind Sanskrit language. Sanskrit language is a device, not just a medium of communication. If somebody says FIRE , if you know English you understand. you get the form in your mind. Sanskrit is not just a language. The sages created the language to felicitate creation of the forms by uttering certain sounds in certain way. They are called Mantras.
Earlier Brahmanas used to produce fire simply by chanting mantras.In wars weapons like Brahmastra used to be invoked by chanting mantras. Sanskrit is taught, it has to be learnt by rote. It does not matter whether you know the meaning or not. Knowing the meaning is subsidiary not the primary.
In
vedic and puraanic literature, there are two famous arts – the art of gambling
called Aksha vidyaa and the art of horse riding, called the Ashva vidyaa. Our
senses have also been called aksha. Aksha is also connected with concentrating
the energy of universe into itself, just like a magnet. On the other hand, the
art of horse riding or Ashva vidya is connected with spreading oneself into the
universe.
Playing
dice means the chance theory of nature. Every phenomenon in nature takes place
as a chance. As one goes above nature, this chance gradually loses significance.
