Aniruddha Pathak Poems
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There Are Books And Books, But
A book loud and loose if not lusty,
Read and re-read to the last page,
Dog-eared oft gets but scarce dusty,
And dies of torn limbs ere her age!
While a tome beautifully bound,
Decorated wall-hanging wisdom
Like sword and armour of a kingdom,
Dies treasured a tall bookcase bound.
Or may long live not a page turned,
To die unread of ripe old age,
Or by next generation earned,
Yellowed, book-worms devoured in rage!
There’s a thing common— books or men,
But a few significant can.
Clouds: Let Us Rain
Season it is of rain, let’s rain,
Reason too to rain, let us rain.
Be it an ocean of dry, white sands,
Of water waves, surfs, bubbles, wet sands,
Our duty ‘tis to rain, let’s rain.
It’s not our nature to lie lain
At one place, let us move and rain,
We have no me nor have mine,
We choose dwelling, nor terrain.