God's Gift Of Tears Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

A lot is lost—losses unheard,
But she has saved a price-less thing—
A stream of tears easy that spring
From pain wreaked by this wanton world;
A lot is salvaged, things nigh weird—
Power and puff and put-on prestige,
High walls to hold women in siege
By the man of the same vain world,
His gains garnered at a grave cost—
For, lost he's gift of God— to cry—
Great boon to make heart breathe light nigh,
But tearless has he stiffened frost.
And yet man's such a brittle cake,
He needs woman's bosom to bake.
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Sonnets | 16.08.14 |