The Final Bow

Adorning my feet one last time, towards the field my shoes plow.
Heavier than ever I feel their weight, as I walk out for a Final Bow.

Showering its light, towers the floodlight, bowing its head in reverence,
Lunging beneath, the grass touches my feet before the final severance.

By the thousands they turn up, rapturously expressing their glee,
On this day, they bow to Him, and after him they bow to me.

At times they showered on me, paeans, at others brickbats and sticks,
On their feet are my most ardent supporters, the bitterest of my critics.

There stands my captain, on whose head I once placed his first cap,
That cap is doffed today; soon he shall place one in another’s lap.

I recognize the glacial stare of the one they called my nemesis,
Eyes locked in silent respect, we share our moment of catharsis.

In the embrace of my best friend, I feel on his cheek a solitary tear,
Having spent his years in my company, he knows his day draws near.

Out peeps an expectant understudy, soon he will occupy this stage,
For long he has been my shadow, honing his skill under my tutelage.

Departing from tradition, for once, they do not worship the rising one,
Like kids on the shore, they line up to feel the warmth of the setting sun.

On occasion I have been written off, on occasion I rewrote history,
Not the numbers written in record books, my legacy is my artistry.

Not long ago, a nameless youngster, stepped out from this sacred portal,
Walking through it for last time, he enters the Pantheon of the Immortal.



Dedicated to the unassuming Legends: Rahul Dravid and Paul Scholes.