Men would often Call him 'The Last Pandit'
with his Cotton Faren in summer of Delhi.
Evening stroll in our Park with an unease
His creamy flesh stuck to sacred Threads
His Blue Eyes with dark circles around
White beard & wrinkled face hanging
Bright forehead & marked beads around
Still so shy yet Strong & resilient
Gardener asked him to retire home
fearing another sun stroke to death
He replied "I wont die silently"
Let world know , I erased it myself !
Every day he Went around
touching branches & Checking strength
From Tree to tree , Shade to shade
As if none was fit for his Pyre !
Garden asked : Do You need a Hangman ?
He replied "Yes, But Branches need to be strong
Even for my Neck , I need a Chinar
And even for my Pyre , A Deodaar !
This Winter he breathed is last
I saw him sad even after death
May god Never take it away
A wish to Die where He Was Born !!!!
He was the Last Pandit in our Park
He was the last Pandit in our park
With A cotton faren & Sacred Thread
And A wish to return Home. Last Pandit !!!
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