Come Back Won't You, My Dear Man...

Cirukudalpatti Muthaiah,
I heard a song this morning,
A song that started with your name.
My face brightened when I heard it.
I tell you I was grinning from ear to ear as I drove.
For to me, the mere mention of your name spells magic.
(But you knew that already, did you not?)

I knew not then what the song was about,
I knew not if it was one of those silly imaginations of some lyricists,
Who, ripped off their creativity, used your name for the silliest of instances.
I used to wonder why their brains deserted them to make them do so,
(if they had any in the first place, that is)
Did they think you had no better priorities in your world,
Than to come lit up someone's silly mundane love life?

But alas -
Twas.
Yet another attempt of some lyricist.
Who had hoped he could live off the weight your name carries,
Even after all these years since you left us.

You -
The greatest soothsaying poet-lyricist to have ever lived,
The earthly messenger of worldly wisdom,
Brought to this earth by god for the common man,
Personally handpicked to speak our language.

How disappointed you must be, my dear Kannadasa,
That those known to be your kind,
The ones who are supposedly obliged to speak to us like you once did,
That they instead, speak a language that we need not hear.
And stop they do not at just that -
Instead they go on to make a mockery of your genius.
You - the genius who taught wisdom,
Using a medium that's known to many as mundane,
You - who made divine lovers out of us commoners,
Philosophers out of us materialistic fools.

Come back won't you, my dear man.
Come back and reform us.
To teach us how to live life,
To make us see -
that tis not righteousness this world needs now,
Nor morality or immorality.

Come back to make us see -
That life should be lived as it comes,
And that it will come as we live it -
Sincerely in all amorality.