Bibekanand Kumar (Agyat)
Now, I knew why they called him mad,
He was only happy among all the sad
He sang of the tillers tilling their field
Thousands can be fed only if they’ll yield.
He told “he sees words, hears sights
And tastes smells”. Oh! He flew kites
In the eternal sky, of his sixth sense
To see that is unseen in his absence.
Hardly the common believes he sees
Not he a solid set but a flow of breeze
Not they see the world behind words
And not they know, why fly the birds?
I’m turning into as was he, to be me
They laugh at “they don’t what I see”
Of my song and humming, madness
They call, at them falls my kindness.
My silence, my voice, my anger, when
They don’t understand what my pain
My pain for the blindness they tame
The lie, disbelief, cruelty, name, fame.
Know I a zero in front of his highness
But read his heart, find mine, a bless
I love his greatness, and to his lesson
I’m grateful, this poem, my dedication.
