Aniruddha Pathak

(25.05.1941 / Godhra - Gujarat)

Fourteen beautiful birds on wings


A baker as packs thirteen eggs to claim
A good dozen, a sonneteer— fourteen
Sweet lines in praise of thine slender good frame,
That thine mysterious marvels never lean
Might seem, he too that fledglings fully hatch
Ah, gorgeous birds to be, ready to fly
In time together in one single batch,
Or in formations that but sonnets try.
The eight of them in front to face all strife,
The six that trail, as if in counterpoint,
Resolve to soothe— ah, sonnet’s very life,
As Volta, some poets choose to anoint,
Of whose last two, twain wings of a couplet,
Come with a short song ending the sonnet.
______________________________________ __________
- Sonnets | 04.11.12 |

Submitted: Sunday, November 18, 2012
Edited: Tuesday, November 26, 2013

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