Hermitage of love
Abbas Panakkal
In my school days
the impressive author
of daily national anthem
got better fearful respect,
for seldom catching
a single moment
at school assembly sessions.
My favourite
language book
unveiled to me
the great composer
of two cultures,
and the architectural
draughtsman of
two national hymns.
At passing fancy
of teenage
I spelt even some
lovely words
with palpitating
body and mind,
hovering nicely beaten
moments of
the lean stiff stick
of my old headmaster.
Integrated fear,
love and respects
usually conflicted
my heart in echo of
the beat caught together.
A tickle
of self shame
inspired me,
when a copy
of Stray Birds was
handed over to
my debut lover
in pre university classes.
I ,
in her absence,
by hearted the lines
and exchanged
the charm of its
instigated induction.
And
integrated
the beautiful moments
of lively universe of love.
He was a cult,
an offbeat
He was a hermit.
How lovers
could live in a hermitage.
Hearth of lovely
moments diffused
in the rousing words
of celebrated bible of love.
