Divine a behemoth as a juggernaut grand,
Jaunts on a chariot thru' wide sands.
The skies stand tacit to the clouds of dust,
As His chariot scampers on crust.

Yonder miles of greens and browns,
Thru' lone villages and bright towns,
The chariot scurries and shakes each land,
Driven too wise by the divine hands.

Showering bliss and gleeful winds,
The chariot runs o'er bygone ruins.
The ruins stand tall with all delight,
Freed at once from bleak cussed plight.

The wooden wheels bear three bright ones,
Carrying with honour each hallowed countenance.
Jagannath, Balaram and Subhadra stand,
As the wheels run smooth thru' barren lands.

They bless each man who seeks true joy,
And stands too naive as a green little boy.
They bless abundance to every one,
Whose arms hold chariot ropes 'neath the sun.

Three grand chariots stand at ease,
To carry the Lords in honour and peace.
Built in woods of divine frames,
The chariot hails their holy names.

Hail o Lord and bless thy earth,
Bless us all to dwell in mirth.
Let no treacherous evil soul,
Ever curse our immortal whole.
© Dipanjan