His elan
Hung on the pivot of tradition
Breathes in mellowed rhythm
His head of tufted grace
And mien of anchored calm
Are gifts won
Weathering the gales of life.
In resigned soul of strength
Untouched
Either by rancour or love,
He is the focus of affection
Of infInite hearts
No one can impound his will
To ablutions,
The anodyne for the soul and its sheath
Never can we catch him
On the wrong tongue
No craver of taste
As he is
In his wisdom of abstinence
He whets his wit
Not on the cynic stone
But
Strikes the flint of ancient lore
For sparks of light
In
The cloudless sky of his mind
Reigns
Eternal bright weather
Despite his traits
Of ingredients gold,
He lets his imperious "I"
Shut its door
On free thinking
With a self righteous bang
He is a book
Of Dharmic quotes
Of diverse sense profound
When he slips
Into anecdotage
Its wistful thrust inclines
Towards his stage memories
of roles he lived
Ninety five plus,
He bids fair to score
His breath-taking hundred
With
His willow of will supreme.