To A Legend On His Birthday

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Bishan, silent killer with the ball
Chucking quietly as one by one they fall.

Gentle executioner, they called you
A spin wizard, thru and thru.

Weaver of dreams, here you stand
A poet with red cherry in hand.

Not white or pink for you, only red
That beautiful arc, leaving batsmen stranded with feet of lead.

Flights of fancy, luring them to their doom
Like a spider to a fly, cramped for room.

Like a vision in white, you appear in a dream
No finer sight on a cricket field has ever been seen.

Lion of Punjab, you call a spade a shovel!
No fear in your heart
Now the seventh decade of your life you start.

Yes, Bish you turn 70 today
But for billions of cricket lovers around the world, you remain immortal

With thanks to Mark Ray for permission to use his photograph