A house,
sitting on the
slopes of a verdant hill,
has a different view of things
even on things heavenly ,
--a star in the western sky.
                                          
A star with silver sheen,
smiles down at the children
playing in the engulfing darkness
in front of a hut , thatched with  braided coconut leaves.
Chilly wind blows, children shudder,
their tattered clothes flutter,
they are hungry still , looking like withered pepper vines,
facing blazing sun, all day long
waiting for their parents to turn up
after day long toil in the rice paddy yonder.
The jackals howl, chicken in the coop, respond in fear.
From afar, strains of music waft, from Syrian Orthodox Church
in tea estates atop the high rages of Kerala mountains.

"Why they are so late?" the youngest, a frail anemic girl asks-

"They may have gone to market to bring us delicacies for Christmas"
the eldest girl, a cheerful but wimpy one quips,
hiding her own fears...
Tomorrow is the day of Christmas, (if they don't get their wages..)

Night descends from the hills in thick rolls through the slopes,
flooding their hut and them all in inky darkness, without any hope,
the boy and the girls, not ready to  loose hope look up to the lone silver star,
even when darkness eats them up.
The star gives them it's happiest of smiles
at the saddest of times, it ever did...
a drop of tear
from the eye of the hapless star
falls on a child's tattered dress.
O