PRADIP Ranjan Das
Kolkata, West Bengal
At Lebutla, ‘Crazy Dashu’
wrote rhymes every day,
Crowds would stop to read
his lines along the busy way.
On a blackboard neat and bold
his verses shone so clear,
Winter, summer, Dashu’s rhymes
brought readers far and near.
He wrote on every funny thing,
fresh from daily life,
“All so good,” the people said,
except a tongue or strife.
Such tasty, crisp and spicy rhymes,
like fritters hot and pop,
Readers gulped them standing there,
gobble, chomp, and hop.
Whatever stirred in Dashu’s mind
came out in rhyme and beat,
Though mad for verse, his head was sound,
his rhymes were sharp and sweet.
His soul would crave for rhymes each day,
his joy was pure and bright,
What sorrow made the world call him
“Mad,” oh what a sight.
Day by day his bubbling thoughts
in verses overflowed,
He wrote for all, with wit and charm,
on life’s unending road.
Time moves on but life must end,
as clouds in silence form,
Darkness came on Dashu’s path,
the calm before the storm.
His life was done, the rhyme-fair broke,
his journey reached its close,
All of life, a game divine,
as every poet knows.
Yet Dashu’s final verse remained
unwritten to this day,
Still his fame will leave the world
amazed along the way.