Aniruddha Pathak Poems

Be thou the one to beat
Both victory and defeat,
Be free from shackles of the world.
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When bakers packed twelve plus two more to claim
One dozen, a sonneteer sets fourteen
Sweet lines arrayed in an eight plus six frame,
And the magic marvels and ever-green
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Drained, clouds no more rain,
Sun at the end of day's pain,
Here's rainbow's short reign.
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He died deeply frustrate
Under the burden of dire debt,
But that was not his fate.
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Let me start darkling a tale, rather stark,
O lighting a lamp to look into dark.

On drowning deep in pen puddles my own,
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Reasoned fair and forthright,
What if ‘hind words wise there be child's mind?
Let the old aught it well its worth find,
Fine, no sun shines at night,
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Leaving behind disastrous taste,
It came, an unexpected guest.

Came, a lot on the way to drown,
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Was told: true friend is man's third hand,
And I set out in search of third hand.

To peacocks, hills are never far,
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Unreal scarce doth exist

Never can unreal come to be,
Nor ever real ceases to be,
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Clothes sure play a role
And one must make an impress.
I recall a verse1
I had learned in my childhood:
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