HIS-Story

He is this man who’s grown grey hair.
He doesn’t look too dark, not too fair.
If you observe, he’s got wrinkles on his face,
Which show the pain and struggle he went through in his days.

Born in a poor family they survived hand to mouth.
I respect you, the honest man, to thee I lout.
He walked for miles to reach his village school,
He walked barefooted, but never did he lose his cool.

He says he doesn’t remember seeing the face of his mother.
Unfortunately she had left the world, leaving him to his father,
He longed for the mother’s love, that he surely deserved,
The god must’ve felt guilty, when this he discovered.

In his quest to quench his hunger he arrived at the city.
Slogged for days and nights, but what he earned was petty.
Patiently and calmly he managed to steady his ship.
Never gave up his struggle, clung to life like a clip.

How I wish I was half the man as him
Never would I lie, cheat or nim.
This was the story of a person I love like no other.
This was the story of my God, my Oldman, my FATHER.

(HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABA, the childhood begins)