Kapil!
There is no need to be lachrymose
For the ball of lie by the devils
Spun at you; for uprose
Your heart of pure truth to catch
It out of the willow field.
You are topnotch
And can the game of life and cricket easily wield.
So the guilt-tipped dart
Blunted fell as you stood sobbing 
Burning and breaking your heart,
With your image fast ebbing
Before BBC
And your guileless tears
Bowled out the foisted seam of harm
Bathing your fans in joyous tears.
The 'aptest' hand of the veteran bat
Vivian Richards took your well-worn palm
Of bowling pace to be caught
In for Wisden's award to warm
The cockles of countless hearts.
Glass of truth and mould of manhood
Match winner and not match-fixer
How solidly you stood
As your winged willow hit four sixers
In breathtaking consecutive grace
Favouring a merry miss to swing again against England
Ready to catch us in an impending disgrace
As your lofted triumph was a magic wand
Team before self was your goal
Your recording angel straight drives all statistics
A heart inspired hitter of the ball
For you, runs pile up sans tense mathematics
Ace winner of hearts and matches
Cricket Titan of this centwy you came
A hurricane performing beyond Fancy's reaches
Allrounder great your willow sings in the hall of fame.