Priest, His Hidden Instrument Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

To a priest sitting beside her,
Asked a young woman on a flight
With a voice of quiver and fright:
Father, may I ask for a favour?
Of course my child
If favour sought is not so wild.

I've bought a pricey hair dryer,
Value from customs limits higher,
Afraid, they might confiscate,
Can you carry it thru the gate?
You may perhaps under robe hide,
I'll be right there walking beside.

I'd love to help and would try,
But let me warn, I won't lie.

With your honest face
And God's immense grace,
No one will question you,
Well, they'll not have a clue.

At customs he walked ahead,
And she behind, bent head,
Father, you've things to declare?

Atop my head down thru chest,
And further down to waist,
No, I've nothing to declare.

The official thought a while—
The reply and its style,
From waist down till the floor—
Further down any more?

Father thought for a moment:
A marvellous rare instrument
Designed to be used on women,
Unused still and un-open!

Roaring with laugh, the official said,
Thanks Father, you may go ahead.
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Tongue-in-cheek |15.11.15|