Aniruddha Pathak Poems
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This Game Of Golf
The game of golf nigh like this life,
Though played all life perfect can’t be,
The game of golf like player’s wife,
Now on pedestal, now on tee,
On roughs, on toughs, handicaps, bogies, strife,
Ah, played as if on edge of knife!
Easy to start, hard enough to finish,
And harder yet forever to master,
Pursued and practised like unfulfilled wish,
And always one stroke ‘way from disaster.
As in life in game, handicaps to cap,
Clap for birdies, try still eagles each lap.
What a rage be the game played every age,
With many a high and as many...
Footprints Upon My Sands
Man as in poor image of God is made,
His footprints of acts scarce to my heart reach;
History may have recorded his work,
I need no such printed prints him to know.
I can hear and feel him walking ‘pon me;
Let me wait till that wave rises from sea
Erasing wrinkles off my body’s skin;
And if that tide, always a ready friend,
Whilst receding back to the heart of sea,