February 16, 2018 Author: Fr. Anson Antony Ackappilly OCD 0 Comments

The blessed bride of hermits
Where hidden art thou?
See.. to the core my heart aches
And I faint, none to arise me.
I speak words…. and words,
No-sense but they say.
Alas! I shiver and
My hands can’t stitch my lips.
The heart has sorrow
That never my eyes reveal.
I cry, but no tears well down, 
Only smiles upon the dark face. 
Oh my friend, my hope. Gird up
Fly thy wings and embrace me
Let the aroma of thy wings 
Shall my blood permeate. 
May I breathe, may I smile 
And hope to live may I have.

Author: Fr. Anson Antony Ackappilly OCD