They tried to end him even in his youth,
His very kin conspiring for his breath;
He gave away his Radha, in all truth,
To shoulder burdens and outface his death.
He lost his clan, his lineage, and his line,
Because he stepped to help a righteous war;
Branded a cheat, a trickster, and a sign
Of stolen gems and murders at his door.
With loves uncounted and with paths untamed,
Was he a saint, or player of the game?
Through every false decree by mortals framed,
He walked through joy and sorrow much the same.
And though the inner wounds ran deep and wide,
He wore a smile where heavier griefs were pressed
Bearing the universe with naught beside
A quiet peace upon a lonely chest.
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