A Saint Called "SAI"

Dressed like a fakir
He embodied the mortal coil
It was the divine soul that manifested
Like a sacred sapling in the dirty soil

Eyes, the witness of timeless time
Color, they derived from the infinite sky
Deep, as the depth of the ocean
Old, for numerous births have gone by

Magnificent forehead, covered by a cloth
Contained in it, the keys of salvation
Untidy robes and dirty hands
All bedecked with the dirt of creation

The striking posture, he sat in
Came from it, a splendid vibe
No wonder! A splendor like this
How can mere words in the language describe?

A depleted mosque, His abode
Seated in it, miracles he drew
Acting on the supreme command
Words he spoke, were always true

Ailments vanished just by his gaze
Diseases he cured by grinding wheat
Simplest of simple life he led, while
The riches of the world served his feet

“Dhuni” he called the scared fire
In it the sins of the world, he burnt
And the ashes were his blessings
To all his devotees, Illiterate or learnt

With faith and patience as his mantra
He produced the eternal light
In the gloomy, lightless worldly sky
Like a star he twinkled pure and bright

A promise he made to his world of devotees
“I would, always be alive.
My bones would speak from my tomb,
Towards the benefit of thee, my soul will always strive”

The almighty incarnate, a spiritual guru
The saint of Shridi, the uncrowned king of Dwarkamai
Omnipresent, omnipotent, even after his life
My devotion, my penance, my ever loving “Sai”