What was bigger, do you think,
the Kookaburra or his eyes?
What mesmerized more,
the glint,
unwavering focus
the afterwards-smile?
He was made of grin-and-bear,
this boy who came from a mountain
this man who caught insult
and tossed it back
to bounce and spin
and disarrange wickets.
He was slighted
but was not slighting;
the Smiling Assassin
never killed;
he just wrote some poetry
with finger, wrist, mind, eye and heart.
And we,
the beneficiaries
of the mis-hit that went for SIX,
the miss that took his off-stump
or slid by keeper for four,
the brilliant run-out
and breath-taking catch,
and of course the wickets,
the wickets
that fell and fell and fell
like the records that will take time beating,
yes, we
can salute.
You made us taller, Murali.
Thanks.
[from the collection 'Stray kites on string-less days]
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