Acharya Brahman My Guru

a poem by Jayati

My father tonight
Strange thoughts
Arch through the mind.
My father though no more today
Perhaps, is reborn growing somewhere?

To the very
Father he was born.
My grandfather
Whom I had never seen.
Much earlier he was long gone.
Those days my father was a little child.

By the time he is through his stages
Will I die to be born to him, in ages?
All of us one by one in phases-
Repeat his family as he began.
Bygone is no bygone.

A poor Brahman dutiful, born
No matter insults, and scorn.
Teaching to love, and compassion
Forgive and forget mission.
However, not be a doormat. He taught.
With guaranty, treasure is our intellectual capacity.
Cultivate, to impart knowledge, richness get.

A wealth that could never deplete
Much as we gave, give.
Pacifist deadpan, peace at any cost, he was not.
Anchored in win through morality, mutual respect,
Plan of action, in non-violence-freedom was his, ours.
True Congressman with law degree yonder year secretary
Follower of Bapuji self-made was he.