Aniruddha Pathak Poems
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The Murder Most Foul
The meanest murder minus of machete,
Overwhelming greed blamed, sole bleeding knife;
Who held the knife? Manic men of market?
Fair lady herself—too much freedom rife?
To save her skin she this defence did make:
Infidels do breed their own tragic ends—
Oft making markets seem a sad mistake;
But here she used her own barest of hands.
No darling; not in fear, ye died of hate,
In greed of growth I guess, guilt-edged progress,
And yet, ere ye fall to thine destined fate,
I blame less Lady Greed, more her excess.
If bleed ye must ye shall bleed ...
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.