Sab ko san mathi de Bhagvan!

Among the streams of refugees

He was a boy of nine.

From the winds of Lahore

It was an exile forever.

 

He reached a refugee camp,

Life was that of a tramp.

Freedom at midnight was a chain

Hopes were nearly slain.

 

But in a stream he survived,

In a Delhi Haweli he gained his roots.

In the rehabilitation process

Time showered upon him grace.

 

At the Pahargung slot

His life presented a simple plot.

A small shop, a sparrow’s nest,

For decades that was his living chest.

 

Woolen clothing and home appliance,

For people, the corner was a paradise.

Generations knew him well,

He spent his days in that gentle wind.

 

He was like a banyan tree,

His life was an open creek.

I was a regular visitor there,

When winter arrived, I needed his sweaters.

 

In his presence

My moments were graceful.

He would unfold his life-

A story of struggle and endless strife

 

On a dark day, a few years ago,

During the festival of lights

In a blast around that part,

Shedding blood, he left this rueful earth.

 

As I peep into his shop now

I see his widow, face very serene.

It is clear her silence speaks volumes,

It seems well she has pardoned the world.

 

As I leave the shop with candid feelings

A Bhajan reaches my ears.

“Iswar Allah Tere naam,

Sabko san mathi de Bhagvan*”.

 

*******************************************************

 

Iswar Allah...Bhagvan*= Lord, you are known as Iswar and Allah.  May you give everybody the right kind of intelligence and mind.

 


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Subramanian_A
Poetry
Sonnet
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Synopsis
The poem is self descriptive.
A Word from the Writer
Man has a heart. Let him reflect on life with his heart rather than with his intellect. Bombs can only create more tombs in the world. Who actually learns out of bombardments? Great seers have never advocated the way of bombs for a peaceful co-existence.
Published Date
10/20/2009 12:00:00 AM
Published In
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