The nation heaves a sigh of relief,
Though it's one step after ninety-nine.
What's so special about this one peak,
When he's scaled the previous ninety-nine?
What is hundred but a number,
One more stone in shining diadem?
There was nothing the little master,
Had to prove to himself or the world!
He took batting to sublime heights,
Flowing art backed by exact science.
Master at pinnacle of his field,
Which, through his performance, he defined!
Every field has one or few at most,
Who embody all that it stands for.
For them, they, and their art are one,
For through them, the art performs!
Few are they who carry the hopes,
Of a nation on their shoulders.
Fewer still who do this with grace,
Or the humility he displays!
Does the landmark matter and to whom?
Does the river ever mark its course?
To fulfill its mission it flows,
It's we who keep track of where it goes!
He came to the game and gave his all,
Sublime genius who holds us in thrall.
We are fortunate he lasted so long,
Not every fire that blazes, lasts!
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