He came home with me carefully wrapped in my suitcase
All the way from Delhi
Nine years back, golden-alloy statuette, one of summer days
When I met my paternal aunt in Paschim Vihar
She lovingly gifted me
Saying 'have Him home, not as guest, but family member.'
He occupies my puja, seated on dainty plated throne
In His now-famed posture
Tiny garland of rudraksh*-n-flowers around to adorn
This is the image of that simple but extraordinary Saint
Whose birth, childhood unknown
But He was and is revered and idolised without restraint
One rare Indian Sadhu** in the days of pre-freedom
Who was respected equally
By brethren of both faiths: Hindoo and Moslem
He healed, He helped, He guided those who needed
Was loved by simple folk
From many villages, towns in and around where He lived
He had complete control over the forces of universe
Not understood by mere mortals
So his deeds seemed to them like miracle, mystique, surprise
But when He attained His Samadhi^ when was ripe old
He had with him not a rupee
No wealth, no trusts, no successors in His fold
He has brought wondrous peace to all in my family
For the little that we do for Him
He continues guiding, lighting, leading all our lives verily
In multitude of His temples built across globe in veneration
To reverentially invoke and pray,
'Om Sai, Sri Sai', the faithful chant of Him with utmost devotion.
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*Rosary beads worn as necklace for by religous Hindus.
**Saint in Hindi
^Highest level of conciousness attained when the soul departs the body.
Padmanabhan Ananth
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-golden-guest/
