Aniruddha Pathak Poems

Fold up your fist, luck plucked in palm,
Keep under wrap all hurts and harm,
Let not your face show pain nor stress
That no one dare proffer solace.
...

A foe hurts when comes in sword and dart,
A friend when he departs head and heart,
Both give me grief I guess,
And painful both no less,
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Willed by whom the mind wings ahead?
Willed by whom is the first breath made?
Willed by whom are words uttered?
Eyes and ears by which god are bestirred?
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Books, testaments of ken, shrines of fine learning,
Knowledge edifices, hard-wearing seem
Than those stone-built and made to look so grim,
And oft by a Papal decree set burning.
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No mundane reason to love
And still beyond self you love,
Comes from heaven high above,
Love, wanting nothing to prove,
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Let there be no limit to man's kingdom,
Working up a new lump He took a pause,
Reflected on his new venturous cause,
Wonder what he'd do with wit and wisdom!
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In a vast desert
A raindrop disappears,
No one ever cares.
___________________________
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In a lake somewhere
A bubble's born, then is bust,
Who does ever care?
___________________________
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Watching disciplined ants sans rank,
Marching in with a single flank,
Drums beat, nor is there marching tune,
Single minded, spring be or June,
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When once asked to introduce who I was,
I found it thanklessly daunting a task,
My thoughts made me wonder with a long pause:
Who's known him well— one forever wearing a mask?
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