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Woe to the one,
Who is stung by a bee.
F*ckin hurts a bunch
Makes one want to flee.

Even after he dies,
The bee knows what to do.
You might not realize,
But the stingers in you
“The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd - The longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are.” ~ Fernando Pessoa
The poor boy knew Christmas beckoning at the door
He saw every house bright with many a lamp
And streets illumined with colorful lights and stars
But his tiny hut looked dismal n’ dark like a prison camp

With a suppressed sigh, he inhaled the festive air
His little heart grew weary and dim
There has never been a merry Christmas in his life
As the days advanced, he grew moody and glum

He, born into a cheerless, crammed shack
With parents so poor having very little means
To bring up their children and foster a family of seven
At a tender age, saw shattered all his budding dreams

Year after year, he had seen the city in dazzling lights
But never once on Christmas he could feel any glee
While the rest of the world partook of umpteen delights
Never his heart, from sorrowful thoughts, was free

When children of his age feasted on roasted turkey and ham
And their mothers baked Christmas cookies and cakes
He and his siblings had to be content with a meager fare
That left their cheeks wet with saline drops pooled in their eyes

Their house in winter was too damp and cold
No blankets had they to keep themselves warm and snug
They lay huddled together in biting chill
On the wooden floor on a worn out woolen rug

One evening, on a leisurely walk from school
The boy saw a man selling colorful balloons
With the little penny tucked safely in his trouser pocket
He bought a balloon and headed straight to the lagoons

There as he sat on the sprawling silver sands
A strange idea had come upon his little head
To send a letter to Heaven asking for some urgent help
Hoping Jesus would help, he too being born a poor kid

On a white paper he carefully scribbled these lines:
“Merciful God, look upon us, this miserable seven
Here in our humble hovel, we die of hunger and cold
On this Christmas, send us a little cheer up from heaven”

He folded the paper and fastened it to the balloon
Nevertheless he didn’t forget to put his full address
When the wind was strong, he let it go off his hands
And watched it soar high with his earnest plea for redress

Days went by and the awaited Christmas Eve arrived
While the world splurged in all gaiety and merriment
The poor hut remained dull and cheerless as before
The helpless parents were lost in grim bafflement

Abruptly, there halted a Mercedes before the hut
A man, old and graying with a graceful smile
Alighted with his hands loaded with Christmas gifts
Looking for the boy, he had travelled many a mile

It was during one of his daily strolls around the lagoon
That the gentleman saw a balloon suspended on a willow tree
The white paper tied to it made him curious
He took it up and saw an innocent’s earnest plea

The man so rich and kind was moved at heart,
He from his wealth decided to donate a large sum
To support that family of seven in dire straits
And give them the merriest Christmas with no trace of gloom

The little boy believed Jesus had answered his prayer
He came in the guise of a man, he had never before seen
With rising delight, he saw a star in the graying sky
It shone right over his head with a brighter sheen
Wish all my Hello Poetry friends the peace and joy of Christmas!
In the wild confusion of my life, I saw your face
A kind countenance making bright my days
Through rugged tracks when I stumbled along
I felt an unseen hand holding me strong

When bewildered by the horrid scenes of death
You assured that life extends beyond mortal breath
When lost in the dank and dark alley of wickedness
You diverted my steps into the well lit path of righteousness

When I gloated over my own trivial accomplishments
You reminded me of my littleness through mild chastisements
When I lost myself in the grip of vanity
You opened my inner eye to restore my sanity

When tossed by the currents of fiery storms
Lord! You made me seek the safety of your arms
When drowning in the sea of escalating pain
You sustained and strengthened me and kept me sane

Many got wiped out from the face of the Earth
Without seeing the New Year’s birth
Thank you for allowing me to see this glorious dawn
‘Extend your hand’, I pray, for me to hold on!

Make me feel, you are there in every rhythm of my life
More when life becomes burdensome with problems rife
Over the arid deserts and the stormy turbulent sea
I pray to be by my side as an abiding presence, piloting me

My Lord! Without you my life will be in peril
Never let me fall into the snares of the devil
Do not desert me, stay by my side now and ever
Be my guiding light and sanctify my every endeavor!
I thought I shall start my New Year invoking the blessings of God

Prayerful wishes to all my HP friends for a Blessed New Year of Peace , Hope and Cheer !
Like a warm breath of air
He hovers in my memory
No superman, a meek soul
Not one to squander his time
But one who worked day in and out
To feed those
Whom he loved and sired
What was he?
A teacher, a farmer or an artist

I cannot say precisely...
All I can say;
He was each of these
Rolled into one

On holidays I saw him
Shut in the loft
a brush in hand
His fingers moving over the canvas
The steaming tea by his side
Untouched and getting cold as ice
Unmindful of everything around
He sat by the easel in the attic
Focussed only on the strokes that fell

When a distinct image shoots out
As the moon from behind clouds
A wave of satisfaction would gleam
Across his face,
His frantic nerves at once hushed
Bearing the look of one
Who, in an instant, conquered kingdoms

He would view it from different angles
Never seeking anyone’s opinion
But gloating if he saw
Our admiring eyes fell on it

Being artistically inclined
He lived more in the world of art

But gradually things changed
To his fright, he found his hands shaky
And the lines on the canvas
Going tremulous and disjointed
Couldn’t hold a brush!

On diagnosed of Parkinson’s disease
His world abruptly lost its sheen
He saw the disease weeding
Its way into his life
Suddenly grown old
He lost interest in everything
We saw him sitting in his armchair
So immobile, for hours on end
His eyes stretched to a far horizon

We displayed before him
Paintings once born of his imagination
To see if his world would brighten
And it worked!

Recently, in one of my dreams
I saw him sitting at the foot of Michael Angelo
To learn the art, he couldn’t perfect
In his life time!
As one grows old, when evening approaches, memories too lengthen like shadows.
Now I remember more often of my parents wondering how much of sweat and toil they had shed to make their children comfortable, how much of love they lavished and what all sacrifices they endured. A snap shot of my father who was a teacher by profession but more of an artist at heart.
A ***** in eternal quest after love
Halting in and moving out from shrine to shrine
Until he merges with Love beyond all shades and sheen
Lone waters suddenly fructified with darting fishes
Dark night sky made aflame with an array of twinkling stars
A barren heart fuelled with the elixir of love
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