A sage who vexed by his age
Repeated oft his words brittle,
“All other men of this locale, my age
To my lifelong knowledge little
Are dead and gone, for ever gone.”
Disappeared he like a whip-lash-
My growing dreams melted each bone
Clear streams flowed in-to ash
Reflecting the mirage brimful
Limpid thoughts grew thorns full.

A naked reality he is gone
Leaving us all in tears; like evil
A stray cloud eclipsed soon
My granny’s face- a white devil
He paved the path to destination
Few days it took to reach death prison
An albatross of deep depression
Began to haunt my dad’s vision.
“Was he died?” echoed in my ears
pouring poetry, more blended tears.

The waking soul who does guide us
And devoted himself to restlessness
Till the fields grow more flowers
May stand by us in wilderness.
May the flowers grow into stars
In the tresses of dark night?
He who travelled never by cars
Now an eternal pilgrim of the light;
In dream can see him taking a ride
On a white horse to his own pride.

Though his deeds then were unhurt
He left for Heaven seeking rest,
Whose manners impressed many a heart;
This land’s lost a strangers’ guest
All cry, swim tears and bemoan
For his mighty hands of great worth
Who lived ignorant as long as he shone,
A desperate materialist of humble birth;
A guiding star may be, as was then,
Blessing us, may rest in Heaven.