Rommel, O Rommel

Rommel Shunmugum lurks
With his hanging camera
Through out the year
Spotting for evident pose
Of effeminate lustre
Like a rumbling stone
And settles around the corners
On the haunches reposed
With the fingers in motion
To capture the breathing lives.

He goes wild in rainy season
For it calls him to embrace
The myriad murmuring beauty.
In winter he winks with squeaks
To shoot the dancing ebbs.
The summer calls him to hibernate
For he rejuvenates his lost soul.

His squeaky walks frightens
The croaking frogs in rain
And curly hairs settle on his ramparts
Through the round glass.
His searching eyes spot
The eloquence moving around.
He laughs but in loneliness
Once in a year on Christmas.

Rommel, O Rommel
Shrug the shoulder
With the friends in fifties.
Time spares none as gust does.
We mortals grow older soon.
None can predict tomorrow.
A decade will fetch us in sixties
And the uncertainty will roar
On beguile to drag us to the shore.

©Composed by M K Mishra