Panchanon Maharaj- Pachu Poem by Prabir Gayen

- - - - Life of panchu - a small waste- -:

Long thirty years ago, with the length of thirty long summers it was a school room,
A dark - skinned, thin, weak boy came to school,
Poor, unprivileged weakling yet full of life,
Made all of us laugh with mumbling, something rumbling voice,
He made friends with all not by brain and smartness but by foolish attire and
heart full of joy.
New, energetic, confident he was with the school that offered her devoted followers.
No fear, no hesitation but respectful gaze he casted on teachers who ordained punishment.

Empty stomach yet ran he like an athlete,
New aura of new life made him charming like a bloom that shreds fragrance.
Ever eager to answer the questions beyond his reach,
Still he stood first to answer the questions to everyone's amusement and
Suffered beating of all awkward kind.

Time was passing with infant egoistic love,
He left school for lack of fund-
for those basic causes the most of us indulge- poverty and ignorance.
Changing colours of life took hold all of us,
Life moved on with various multitudinous dimensions.

He got married, rather immatuted family responsibility he put on him,
Shabby rough practicability sucked all his heroic charms,
Cold icy hand of social roughness,
Battlefield of uneven struggle made him
a perfect piece of farce, a destitute-
A way of disillusioned mortality.
Family, friends, society all he lost in the grip of Nothingness.

A holy mantle he got by the name and seemingly grace of God,
Or a eulogistic world of foam and fury,
He got a life of a no man's land,
a fugitive as if a refuge unsuitable for our modern world, and he became a nasty joke.

He lived alone in an empty cave of difficult dream,
A new moon and a new sun he dreamt to spread a dreamland that has no real basis.
Time passed in utter despondency and he got a beating for such foolishness from Almighty.
On death bed he lies now to mock us and
Our education that we took pride of.
He lived in illumined darkness and taught us the way we behaved.

Thirty years passed but that weak weakling still in mind my playing and notching the game of life,
Uttering my name in silent helplessness.