Ode to Tagore
With tiny fingers, here I write,
An ode to the soul of souls.
Its my chance to feel the light,
That shines across the poles.
Years ago on pages of life,
Thy ink had painted smiles.
A tune so blissful like a fife,
Had drawn all rainbow styles.
Green solace through the blue,
Mountains standing high.
Noble brook passing through,
Well beneath the sky.
How mortal cried in agony sin,
How poverty marked an end.
How ruthless rulers smacked a grin,
Dressed as a purple friend.
You painted all in whims and more,
White on canvas lines.
Words in forms had kept a door,
Through the caves and mines.
A noble gift, impeccable one,
You did bring in home.
Shining like a prolific sun,
You had built the dome.
Today on thy day of birth,
I do feel the pride.
Here I write how ceaseless mirth,
Filled me from inside.
I do need thy bliss and bless,
To pen more pages true.
Incumbent soul in thy dress,
Do watch me from the blue.
