Bow your heads low
And stir your souls high
Beneath that cranium,
And above all the repercussions
Is a human, a superhuman…

For centuries may come,
And they may fall like rain
But never will you fathom this genius again

You call him a master, do you
You call him a blaster, do you
You call him a miracle
and a thunder, and a fire do you

A demon to the bowler down the wicket he is
A god in this cricket frenzy nation he is
The hope of a thousands of millions disciple
And the agony of a few disheartened atheists he is

He’s faced the torpedoes and the fireballs
And the swingers and the yorkers
He’s smashed them, he’s thrashed them
He’s sent them to the Pluto
and the Mars and the Saturn

He’s an era himself,
In this gentleman’s game
For thou shall ne’er see, this humility
In such extravagance of fame

May we keep alive Sachinism,
a proud Sachinist I am
I’ve seen the Master play,
That’s how lucky I am!

P.S: This poem is dedicated to Sachin’s 100th century. Special thanks to my friend Abhishek Nagaraja who motivated me to write this. 🙂

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