Gurudev

At the end of every wearied day,

I see your painting grey,

And often wonder what would be

If you were here today

 

Would you have been a commoner

Just like one of us?

Paying loans, stuck on a job,

Commuting in a bus

 

Could you escape this endless race –

Of survival, its quest?

Would you look back and whisper soft

That zamindari was the best?

 

Would you have time, to pen Gora,

Could you write Kabuliawala?

Would Yeats find your Gitanjali,

Or Ray, Charulata?

 

Could you even find the melancholy

The fuel to your song?

In today’s world of broken rules,

Would your unrequited love be wrong?

 

Could you remain the brightest star

In this neon world of lights?

Or would your pen have dried out too

In the tiring daily fights

 

I look at you, you do not speak

But I think I know it all -

Buds bloom too, on cloudy days

Bright too are leaves of Fall

 

In every world that you would grace,

Awoke in any land,

You would leave behind your madness that

We will never understand

 

If you were here, reborn today

Upon this poisoned earth,

Perhaps you’d write even more

From melancholy, your mirth

 

The shattered scars of a peaceless world

Would bring forth tears more,

Larger the fires in your heart,

Heavier the rains you’d pour

 

You were born to shine like a hundred stars

The time would matter not,

(Can we even judge your infinity,

When we ourselves are a dot)

 

And you would write, even today

Despite tired heart and mind,

Forgive me my weariness Lord

Should I ever lag behind…

 

1^st November’ 2024