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The Hand Of Benediction

Sometimes from no evident cause,
Emotions spring up by their own accord,
Heart begins weeping shriekingly,
The eyes shed molten scaring drops,
Drenching deep scalding the cheeks,
And thick dark clouds of depression,
Wrap mind from all sides around.

The stifled heart at mid-night moaned,
The screaming voices compelled to call,
One of the Helpers to render help,
For they are assigned by God to work,
In the east and west, north and south.
Impatient tongue uttered evoking sounds,
Gurgled up from the recesses deep,
“Help! Help! O! Helper help.”
Besought I not in the form abstract,
But in concrete, visible lifelike figure.

On the call third, a complete outer sketch,
Of full man-size in the air emerged,
The dense colours assumed the form
Concrete, compact full in all dimensions,
Sanguine complexion of vigorous visage
Emitted a dim faint glow of light.

Looked He with indignant irking gaze,
As if troubled I much the Lords of saints,
But went I beyond to esteem the reverend,
When I squatted in front to quench the eyes,
Laid He the hand of benediction
Blessingly upon my confounded head,
And the dark clouds vanished fading away.

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