His feet adopted land at fall of June
And cohorts of the Lord, along he brought.
On whose records, our ancestry is wrought–
My father, he, who shares his name with Moon.
To be heired as his blood, is more a boon
And blessed I am— his divine sprite, I wot
before birthing me, heaven must have thought:
To one, so firm of faith, I would commune.
And his largesse, in whilom lives, had done

for all indigents– shared his wealth to lease;
Healed oppressed minds when prayers aided none;
In his holiness, many hearts did ease.
On whose pure deeds, privileged as his son
I breathe my days, else, all for me, would cease.

Shamik Banerjee is a poet and poetry reviewer from the North-Eastern belt of India. He loves taking long strolls and spending time with his family. His deep affection with solitude and poetry provides him happiness.