Aniruddha Pathak Poems
The Joy Of Giving
Be it no more than just a glass of water,
A walking-stick alive rendered by daughter,
Care and concern, warm smile, none far too hotter;
Or quality time spent with someone old,
A warm blanket in times forlorn and cold,
In times of need a willing shoulder-hold;
A pair of slippers to feet walking bare,
Not in loud charity to show you care,
Heart-born feelings shown above false air;
Anything given short of counting ways,
Given to brighten up sinking heart's greys,
To lighten load that too heavily weighs;
Give it in cash though ...
Thou Art No Common
I oft shooed thee as bird of barest brain,
But no, ye hide behind a talent rare,
If rare hands were to nurture ye to train,
Thine sense of shades no bird I know may share.
It is thine knack, human commands to heed,
That maketh thee a bird of choicest breed,
Thou lone, O angel, knoweth a Monet
Say, from Picasso, Peace Pigeon, prized pet!