HASNAIN AAQIB (8th July 1971 / Akola)
My Father, The Soft Rock
“All my senses bow to honour thee;
O demi-god of knowledge, and a huge tree…”
The tongue he owns of steel
Piercing through conscience, one could feel
The delicacy of hardness, his words possess
And he is the herald of modern race….
“Never did quench thy august thirst
To emerge among all, always first
To thy pleas, to sow alphabhetic seed
In the soil of little, curious minds.
The world, the just and candid, finds
Thy verbal stress that does sound
As lovely as green moss on dry ground…
Like the roar of the gong,
Like the sweet-maiden’s song,
May thy endeavours earn God’s favour
And be there thy image, pure and sure….
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