Kabirdas

The son of a Brahmin widow Who abandoned him As for worldly shame The newly-born babe Which but the childless weaver couple Gathered with courage To foster him up And the same child grew up As Kabirdas Into the weaver’s family, An abandoned Brahmin boy But professed in a different faith But the quest for knowledge Took him to Ramananda Who just preached on the ghats of Benares And that too marking the thirst for, Giving him the Ram-nam mantra As how to give to, Not of, Keeping the time-spirit in mind But gave he, Yielded to his temptation, The thirst for, desire for knowledge, The knowledge of the self And it is in Kabirdas Hinduism and Islam mingle with, Culminating in a nicer fusion, A synthesis rarely to be seen elsewhere, A diya burning on the mazar of a Sufi saint A founder of the Kabir Panthis, A Vaishanvite Muslim weaver, The adopted child is one such In whom the echoes Of the assimilation of Ram and Rahima Can be felt in with so much intimacy And the mere touch of the guru Ramananda Exclaiming, “Ram! Ram! ” After having trodden him unknowingly On the Ganga ghats And the disciple too in the hope of Lying to be touched to break into rhythmically The body as if a lyre And the mere touch of a guru Striking the chords with Hari-nam And with it The sweet notes breaking forth In many a melody and tuning of own.