1) How can the sun reach out and touch?
Reducing us to ashes the scorching heat too much!
A glimpse of the real U.G. will turn the inane, insane,
Words can do no justice, as a veil will always remain!
2) U.G is on a summit, levels higher than the Everest,
Surfing alone much above any tidal wave's crest,
To be in his presence, itself needs a Herculean effort,
He rolls down like an avalanche, smashing your every-day comfort!
3) He is the pitcher to quaff your parched throat,
A baseball pitcher, hurling you free from this daily rote,
A smiling assassin, piercing your inflated ego and pride,
A guide when you glide, polishes your hide with a gentle chide!
4) In the thin and pure lofty heights he sits serene!
Scales down with ease, refreshingly alive, never a figurine!
Kick-starts into action, when need be, at blinding speed,
A high-octane being, unmatched, unattached, unique indeed!
5) This dreamer dreams of U.G. at high noon and full moon
Every year looks forward to the month after June,
My thought structure is frail, a boat without a sail,
Afraid to fail, quivering in this jail, for U.G. I ail!
--Sreedhav, out on bail