Volume 6 | Issue 1 | April - May
2012 |
Gift Box
Abbas Panakkal
A big box,
wrapped with ornate papers,
came on my marriage eve.
Nobody,
other than me noticed
the box,
having deep legs and long hands.
Pictures inscribed
on it were signs of our dialect.
I kept mum to the roar
came out from its muted mouth.
No,
there was no label,
not even a sticker,
scar or mole to reveal the relation.
No doubt,
warning of my invitation,
presence is precious not present,
irritated the box.
The box took a
strange endeavor to hug me.
The closer it came
the better I smelt my dear.
I feared and fumbled.
And I tried to envelope
my perpetration and
really I rejected the gift.
At pleasurable anxiety
of the first night,
I could not be deaf to my raving dear.
Abbas Panakkal -
