Aniruddha Pathak Poems

Call me tattered estate, I care less,
Call me even a prestitute press,
Paint me jaundiced yellow,
My aura has halo,
...

How ye feel, O fair bird from far world?
A crow once asked a migrating bird:
It's hell being fair bird
In this— an all fair world,
...

Who spares for whom space in his heart?
Even trees drop dry leaves apart,
Ways of this world— be well aware:
If dead, your own burns you up bare.
...

Venom of the venomous varies,
The way corporeal crave comes, harries,
If consumed venom kills,
Coveted a crave grills;
...

Be it a book, woman or your pen,
If gone to alien hands, good as gone,
Returned, pen comes all spoiled,
The book— torn, dog-tired, toiled,
...

A point of his perennial plunder,
Sometimes I do shudder to wonder
If this Earth were mankind's last blunder,
Or a hell be to ‘nother world;
...

You make my mood— green from the grey of grim,
And remind me of good days to me dear,
You have the heart my wails of woes to hear,
Your stays, though ever brief, lift me like cream.
...

Kneeling under the span of open sky,
I bent down trying to reach the wet sand,
A fragment of swept-ashore shell in hand,
And wrote upon a patch of beach swept dry—
...

She assured me she'd come, nay, promised me,
My mind was adrift still on banks, oh waiting—
Ship-wrecked as if in thoughts of life mid-sea,
A state, words can't give even a faint inkling.
...

The time it was of late June—
Time of impending monsoon,
All evening I watched with glee
The churnings of the tidal sea,
...