Nostalgic for Baba's youth, <br /> I make you return <br /> his wasted generation: <br /> <br /> I know you felt <br /> it all: the ruined <br /> boys echoed <br /> <br /> through you, <br /> switched their sorrow <br /> on the radio: <br /> <br /> the needle turned <br /> to your legend. <br /> you always came <br /> <br /> with notes of madness, <br /> the wireless <br /> sucked your <br /> <br /> drunkenness: <br /> you quietly died, <br /> singing <br /> <br /> them to a sleep <br /> of Time <br /> Counting the ruins <br /> <br /> of decades, <br /> the boys were left, <br /> caressed <br /> <br /> with the air's <br /> delirium. <br /> Now two generations <br /> <br /> late, <br /> you retreat with my sanity, <br /> Death stuck in the throat!<br /><br />Agha Shahid Ali<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/k-l-saigal/
