Shyamal-da, at last you said tata.
For some years you were just a reflection
of what you were.
An accomplished man.
Metaphorically, you had almost risen from the dust!
But actually, it can never be so.
If the genes are not strong,
one cannot rise.
Can one?
A son is what one's parents were
or at least what one's parents could be
given the right and congenial environs.
Losing home and hearth
because of some peoples' greed,
dastardly actions of some others,
opportunistic, shameless, demonic.
People suffering because of sins
of others.
No connection can be drawn
between the sinners and the sin.
Man becomes faceless.
Shyamal-da, you passed away quietly.
Sitting and as if breathing;
but the breathing had stopped.
You were an international scientist.
You were a philanthropist.
That you loved your wife
is amply demonstrated
by what you did
in the name of your wife
or otherwise.
But such a man too was cheated
from unsuspecting quarters,
whom you believed
and bestowed bounty.
Actually, you shine better
because of the contrast they created.
They are just imbecile.
May your soul rest in peace
and smile at the tomfools.
Now that you are at last united
with your loving wife.
Your progenies are happy
and gather strength
from what you were
and what you represented.
