The timid poet felt helpless as excited by his humming tune
His father did indicate. That he must recite in full.
So sang he up his freshly writ lyric perforce:
“By inner sheen of the eyes I have seen all beyond eye,
I shall look into my soul now as the light has gone by.”
His wide eyes were moist with passion.
Entire creation got stilled by charming strokes of sound and tone.
Real estates were left behind, the ledgers and so many bustles.
The overwhelmed father shedded tears of joy.
He embraced his reverend son after so long. Thereafter
signing a cheque of Rs.500 in his office he
gave it to the handsome poet.
Eyes affectionate, solemn voice, begone.
‘Mughal emperors in the past used to show respect to the adept
in this manner`, he said. ‘The Mughal Empire is no more now. But
your essence of genius deserved such a royal prize.`
His servants were happier than the poet. They have been
his companions all-time. Raising the winner poet overhead
they filled the worshiper’s corridor with uproar in celebration.
Now there is deceptive and confused noise in the verse domain.
Postmodernist poets recite poems of expansive consciousness.
In those poetical venues the great father is an outcast now.
Affection of father so sparse.
If anyone places a reward in the hands of a young poet even now
We still remember the great old father.
We remember that old-time young poet,
Of the ancestral heritage of worship corridor.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem