Aniruddha Pathak Poems
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The Joy Of Giving
Be it no more than a glass of water,
A living walking stick played by daughter,
Care and concern, warm smile, none too hotter;
Or quality time spent with someone old,
Blanket’s warm fold in times forlorn and cold,
In times of need a ready shoulder-hold;
A pair of sleepers to feet walking bare,
Not in loud charity to show you care,
Heart-born feelings when show above false air.
Anything given short of counting ways,
Given to brighten up needy heart’s greys,
To lighten load that too heavily weighs.
Give it ...
Birth Of Death
Narrate shall I now how Death came ‘pon Earth,
Said Vyasa to Yudhishthir so shattered
By Abhimanyu’s death he wished to die,
‘Shame on me, a young dream now lies scattered’.
A story ‘tis of gilded Golden Age,
Of king Akampan that had lost his all
In war, lost a dear son1 that fought battles
Brave in a losing cause at costs too tall.