How I Wish They Miss Me - Poem by Aniruddha Pathak
On this day one year back he’d died,
The emptiness, now that he’s not with us,
Nigh seems to sound somewhat conspicuous,
His memories now new pens guide;
His honest involvement not so ere billed,
How his trademark was in poetic field.
Many a young pen that has seen him
Wonder-stuck like a fond dream,
Now meditate on his rare style—
He, one alone, stands like a far off isle.
We’ve seen him making the whole crowd
One with his poetry so proud,
Seen him elapse oft in utter silence,
And struggle too for words at once;
We’ve seen him sealing his tall stature
In an envelope, audience in a rapture;
Today his fragrance is right here,
Gone has the flower sans peer.
….. And how things are
One year has gone by since he died,
The silence of his pen few seem to have sighed,
Emptiness nor is there a void,
And many a new style has been alloyed,
The poetry field in this sense
Seems worse the least in his absence,
(As some would like to call
Never verse is at all):
He seemed a solitary isle,
No one missing his literary smile;
In his time he monopolised the crowd,
But his mouth no doubt was a tad loud;
No single flower has e’er ruled the world,
Nor has any a singing bird— my word.
A poet imagines how he would be remembered after his
death; what people would say, say, after one year. The first
stanza deals with this. Reality dawning on him, he then
pens down the second stanza.
- Musings | 03.08.14 |
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