The Light of Bapu

The Light of Bapu

The dawn still whispers your name, O Bapu,

The wind still carries the dust of your feet.

In every ray of morning light,

Your truth breathes again.

The spinning wheel hums like prayer beads,

The sound of “Ram” rests in each turning thread.

From Sabarmati’s quiet banks,

Your voice still echoes through India’s heart.

The fields remember your bare footsteps,

The huts recall your simple meals.

Your stick has become a symbol of courage,

Your loincloth a flag of resolve.

You taught us that power is not in violence,

But in patience deeper than the sea.

That truth is not a sword,

But a mirror, clear and unbroken.

When nations trembled under fear,

You stood — frail, yet unshaken.

You did not command, you persuaded,

You did not conquer, you awakened.

The salt on Dandi’s shore

Became the taste of freedom.

Each grain was rebellion,

Each step, a hymn of justice.

You walked barefoot across history,

Leaving footprints of faith behind.

Even the mighty empire bowed

Before your silence.

Prison walls became temples of thought,

Your letters were prayers written to mankind.

In the stillness of your cell,

You shaped the future’s soul.

Where others sought vengeance,

You offered forgiveness.

Where hatred burned,

You poured the coolness of peace.

Your glasses reflected not the world’s pride,

But its pain.

You saw the beggar and the emperor alike,

As children of the same truth.

You held no throne,

Yet ruled the conscience of millions.

Your weapon was compassion,

Your army, ordinary hearts.

From the blood of the innocent

You made the ink of freedom.

From the ashes of division

You wrote the gospel of unity.

Your life was not of words,

But of living silence.

Even your death was not an end —

It was a sermon without sound.

When bullets pierced your chest,

The word “Ram” blossomed like dawn.

The nation wept, yet rose,

Holding your truth like sacred fire.

You became air, unseen but everywhere.

You became prayer, unspoken but eternal.

You became conscience,

Whispering in every just heart.

The spinning wheel still turns in dreams,

Its hum — a lullaby of courage.

Villages light lamps in your name,

Cities raise slogans of peace.

Yet, O Bapu, we have drifted,

From your path of gentle might.

Truth now trembles before convenience,

Peace hides behind power.

We build statues,

But forget your silence.

We celebrate your birth,

But ignore your way.

Still, somewhere in a child’s eyes,

You smile unseen.

Somewhere a poor man prays,

And you walk beside him.

The widow who weaves at dusk,

Feels your spirit guiding her thread.

The farmer who sows his field,

Feels your hand steadying the plough.

O Bapu, the land you freed

Still seeks your truth.

The soil remembers your sweat,

The sky remembers your prayer.

You said — “Be the change you wish,”

And left it written in our souls.

Yet how many of us live it,

In the noise of our greed?

The wheel spins, but hearts do not.

The light burns, but eyes are closed.

Your dream stands waiting,

Like dawn before the sleeping world.

Come again, O gentle soul,

Walk among our lost footsteps.

Speak again the word of truth,

That even silence remembers you.

The tricolor flutters high,

But only your spirit makes it pure.

For freedom is not in power,

But in the heart that dares to be kind.

And so, O Bapu, we bow once more —

Not to stone, but to your light.

The light that never dies,

The light that still whispers — Ahimsa, Satya, Shanti.