Ode To Kalachand (1) Poem by Santanu Banerjee

O Kalachand, saint of boundless grace,
Who walked the fields where suffering hearts did cry,
Your voice, a river flowing through this space,
Brought light to Bengal's darkened, clouded sky.

With hands uplifted, you unchained the soul,
Of women bound by centuries of scorn,
Through you, they found their worth, their sacred role,
And in their hearts, a brighter dawn was born.

Against the weight of caste, you stood alone,
A flame that burned through ancient walls of stone.
To untouchables, you gave a voice to sing,
And crowned their heads with wisdom's golden ring.

You taught the weary hands to write, to read,
And with your words, the shackles broke apart,
No more to bow beneath the weight of creed,
But rise to reason's call, to wisdom's art.

O healer of the flesh and spirit's woe,
You led the path where harmony does grow,
In peace, in love, through Vaishnav's shining light,
You showed the way to vanquish hate and fight.

Your life a prayer, your breath a sacred song,
O Kalachand, guide us still along.