Aniruddha Pathak Poet Quatrain

I marvel at those, and not

I marvel at stranger’s kindness,
At beauty born of a child’s smile,
Its imprint etched on memory,
Ah to re-live after a while.

Why, goodness of any kind soul,
A kindly touch on mortal flesh
Retained till wrinkled gets the skin,
Till scorched at death, turned into ash.

I marvel at an autumn leaf
That leaves, not a word of regret
On face, nor of its mother tree
I marvel at the souls grown great.

And how can I forget cuckoo
That waits for someone’s views nor clues,
And sings, world approves it or not,
An alibi there’s, nor excuse.

Those that wait not for weather warm,
And in silence venture ships launch,
Nigh undeterred by thoughts of storm,
Not those that hide behind loin haunch.
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Musings |17.04.2024| smile, soul

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