This is about a Gentleman,
A citadel of love, of care
A paragon of selflessness,
An epitome of sacrifice.
Deep blue eyes docked,
Exquisitely in the sockets,
With snow colored complexion,
He radiated grace and virtue.
Thick mops of hair,
Parted evenly, like a trail
In thick dense forest, the
Mops danced on the forehead.
Attired in shirts white as snow,
Blazing from behind dark suits,
He dressed formally,never informally ,
Immaculate his attire, his personna.
Tweed jackets with leather elbows,
Grey flannels, stiched to perfection,
And shoes with burgundy toes,
Adorn he would with rarity.
” Cary Grant incarnate, he was,”
His office housed in Green Gates,
An old Palace of a Maharaja,
Ravaged by history, and vagaries
Of the sickle of time.
He would alight in the portico,
And gracefully would ascend
The imperial staircase, with
His gaze lowered in modesty.
With no eye contact, he responded
To morning greetings with a smile,
As faint as the fading rainbow ,
Exuding warmth of mid- day Sunshine.
Being likeable he was loved
By all and sundry, and he stood,
With malice towards none,
But only goodwill towards all.
His index finger had nuclear power
Holding and gripping it tenaciously,
The comfort, the security, he excuded
Made the timid outrageously courageous.
We became an acquaintance
Upon my arrival into transitory
World,
And soon became dearest friends.
Mother Nature tricked us both,
Our mutual loss was gigantic,
Our souls began to conjoin,
And soon became inseparable.
Inconceivable was my life
Without your over arching
Presence, you had laid a seige
Upon my heart.
Life an endless stream of eternity,
You broke yourself the union,
I became rudderless, floating,
Like a Lotus caught up in weeds.
Every heartbeat of mine
Chimes a bell for Rememberance,
Of your physical absence, and spiritual presence.
I search for you every moment,
In all corners of my life,
But I return Empty handed,
Where dost you reside?
Six plus two scores,
Have passed away,
Since you broke your promise,
Never to leave me alone…….
At the tombstone of my Mother,
I cried more for you, than her,
Console, she did with withered petals,
But my grief for you is inconsolable.
Sirajuddin Aziz
Karachi
