POLARIS
Atlas did not shrug: he bore the burden of his
Mastery, that silvery gift of Proteus, to
Impersonate at the sound of a clapper, at
The twist of a script, in the burning gaze of
Aone-eyed Argus, the thousand faces of a
Bahrupiya - begetter of a thousand emotions,
Hero of hope, heroic slayer of a hundred foes.
Before there was any artifice, there was the
Art: the father’s part: the box-office mobs
Could never know that the outsized poetry
Had had an early start; there was the steel
Culled of first failure, and of a mother’s frontier
Heart: but the fire was sui generis, was his
Apriori, fanned by the bellows of that baritone.
Now, 80: replete, empty: everyone’s. Still alone.
– Bashibazouk
Penned on Amitabh Bachchan’s 80th birthday, October 11, 2022.
From HT Brunch, October 15, 2022
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