on a winter cold morning
on the banks of the ganges
a naga guru pensive sad
i shot all alone in a crowd
flooded by old memories
of earlier kumbhs agony
ecstasy of his thoughts
i tried to capture decipher
each one of them in the
fishermans net i caught
at that very hallowed
solemn spot ..
a muslim photographer poet
held by a slender thread in a
cosmic plot ..overwrought
his cultural inheritance that
had pulled him from mumbai
his jouney into a saffron world
of vermilion tiny dots the chant
of har har mahadev from the
soul of his camera on to your
hearts he bought .amrit nectar
of humility humanity as offerings
from his guru he got ..for once
his caste color creed he forgot
shot after shot after shot..stealing
curds from Krishnas pot ,,,,
Basant Panchami Shahi Snan Maha Kumbh.the winds whispered beggar
poet ,,once home forget me not ,,,
we are born we die become air
fire water wind ..mankinds lot .
