Twenty and two pieces of banana leaves
Spread over stacks of news paper sheets
On each leaf a red spot of lemon tickle
while the boiled egg on top buckle
Over the three serves of mixed veg Biryani
These meals are to be packed and distributed at the lane
After three parcels the cello tape came to the reel's end
Nineteen parcels still to be packed and it's thirty past nine
The hungry have to be fed and the office duty starts at ten
How to pack the food parcels when the cellophane tape is spent
O god, the brain black out and hypnotic
And in no time the left hand stretch robotic
Moves to the left to a corner below the table
Amidst a jumble of books past two boxes  and cable
The index finger skips the top one and aims
The lid of the second one and claims
a brand new cello tape immense
Out of a stupor the brain awakens with a sense
O Jesus! His presence
Heart heaving,
Tears gushing
'Am not alone but Jesus
Like a baby watching curiously a craftsman work,
He is always beside the great Me, lurk
When the human wit run out and escape
Pouncing to catch for  me even  a cello tape

Hello Black Beetle
Bellow Dark Cattle
Flock in a dim cloak
At eleven O' clock
Are you still in ghetto?
  Or heading to metro?

‘Twas not far away or  long ago
At St. Sebastian's house of God
Unfolded with great delight
A tale of the Sebastian Times
With Mattikere's mystic climes

Spoiling midnight oil with pleasure
An arduous task one can’t leisure
Editing and proof reading
For six full moon the crew worked hard
Once it’s done all o' them cheered 'loud

On ninth June Twenty Twenty-two
Father Eby offered the crew
Dinner at Comfort-Inn  
Some of them gathered at church yard
Some of them at hotel facade

They all reached the hotel on time
Editors of Sebastian Times
Calm and serene all smiled
Both Vicars with casual attires
Looked gracious and simple friars

As they entered the Comfort Inn
No one chose to usher them in
But the chief editor
Mr. Paul launched into the hall
He was fair and medium tall

Religiously they trailed in line
With most utmost lane discipline
The foyer room looked golden cast
The centerpiece a unique vase
Attracted them to stand and pause

Inside the hall the tables were set
Each of them were a quartet
It had a royal look
Occupying the seats we met
For the real editorial banquet

Phom and Papa began to fan
With dishes in hand wielding pan
Bell boys' service rodeo
They began to serve us to dine
Starters and fruit cocktails-not wine

(Phom is a name like Tom
Its pronounced as in foam
Phom is a Naga fiefdom
It was derived from Bhom
Which means cloud home
POM also means I in Thai
From Longleng am I
One of the Naga guys
Papa is another bell boy
Who's Phom's close buddy
Both in  black suits trendy
Wait right earnest standing
Far from their native soil
Phom and Papa do toil
In this posh star motel
Serving food and bottle
And all kinds of vittles)

Philipp began to pick and choose
The intake and didn't want to abuse
On a separate plate
He told the bell boy to serve the nosh
"Will get it parceled" yelled in josh

Ms. Sinu and Ms. Jismy Sanoj
Were sprightly like K.V Manoj
The extra plate piled up
Fish, Cabbage Gujiya sausage
Egg and Manjurian hodgepodge

Father Eby and father Mathew
Both were mused and little amused
Still both seemed solitaire
The ladies were only a few
All other women just withdrew

Mr. Jimmy Alexander
The merciful men's defender
Saddled next to father
He completely does surrender
To Jesus the peace messenger

Like Johny, Johny Nono-chan
Eating a burger  Chackochan
Telling tithes Aloysius
Truly Joyson; Bijoy joy-some
All of them were highly handsome

Without a prayer all dive dare
The crunchy fries with love and care
PHOM and Papa patrol
Grill, roast, vegetable, fish, sauce,
Vie one another for a cause

The feast became dilatory
Phil and Mano went in hurry
To find out the hungry
With food packs in hand both went out
To find the needy and doll out

When the feast was done they came out
And gathered round for a snap shot
This homely family
And a fraternity of sort
Planed and played in a resort

Tutorial on investing time
A plan for the immortal times
Who worked hard or hardly
Time investing memorial
In the Times editorial

Dear Friend,
You are precious to me, a great, great lot
You became my special friend with the lot
My heart on the mild screen begins to jot
Your thoughts as refrain darts I dare to quote
I did not choose you but destiny bids
I got caught musing just as tiny kids

I wish you the best this Xmas season
And thank you again and for no reason

May be as you are well advanced in years
And have experienced happy tears
And seen life and heard live stories of fears
And being a teacher too,
(that being my Waterloo!)
Prototype of all the teaching sages
Who were before and to be for ages
Selfless and so loving and caring
Love wrinkles smiley sprinkles pairing
Perchance, I thank you for that reason
Wishing all the best this Xmas season!

Wealth? Health?strength? Length of life? Or Faith in-depth?
What'd you like me pray for you, X'mas friend?
Look , God had thus far gave you all graces
No intercession this Winter Session
So prayers ruled out -- what about praises?
Yes! I would praise God Almighty Jesus
For all that He had prepared and prepaid
And that is the reason you were chosen
To be in glory and grace of Jesus
Bought with a price, a surprise, that frees us
And that's the true prize; all being specious.

And just that being all the more reason
Wish You all the best this Xmas season!

Teresa was counting one to hundred
Ian and Leon ran out to hide.
Francis put on a fancy dress
Like the big baboon in his back yard
As Teresa was seeking the hiders
Like a real monkey Francis came to her.
Teresa took a stone to scare off
The Monkey-like dressed Francis
Alphonsa watched all in wonder
As Francis ran off asunder
Anne was there with Aron
She saw the baboon darting to her
Teresa was chasing the monkey behind
Anne screamed and jumped backwards.
As Dan and Levin were playing near
Aron stood without fear
Francis called out “Aron brother”
“What Monkey speaks!”, Anne turned to hear.
By now Francis removed his head cover,
Showing his tiny white teeth in full power
And all of them broke into laughter,
Giggles chiming with parade
Pulling down Francis’ masquerade

With tender praying hands
With gorgeous smiling bands
Chanting in lullaby
Praise isho messiah
(Praise be to Jesus!)

The children greet the guest!
Trying his level best
Straining a little crouch
Stooping down to warm touch

The angel stars jostle
Putting him in puzzle
He sits down any ways
Ambushed by joyful eyes

Bevy of Angels say
My name is Ketriel
And my name is Evlin
And my name is Jeevan

Mia, Anna, Ephrem
Maria, Joel, Dan
in a  heavenly frame
Confusing this poor man

They began to perform
Story telling and rhymes
Action songs and prayers
To make him feel at home

One even comes and says
"I'll go to Bethlehem"
whispering  in his ears
"If I get A+ this time"

"Good gracious is it true?"
"Yes. I'll to Bethlehem"
Asserts the little Deo
"Then pray for me too."

With folded hands he says
"Pray for me to Jesus"
"Pray for me to Jesus"
"Pray for me to Jesus"

To all the kids he met
Sure they bear Lords signet
The Spiritual magnet
The Holy coronet

Blessed are they who keep them
Blessed are those who teach them
Who impart the wisdom
Until 'Thy Kingdom come'!

Hey super star
Brown prince butterfly
Sleepy eye caps coy
Smiley pliant ploy
Happy Brilliant boy
Moving up and down
Festive floral crown
Golden blossom tend
Galloping on the wind
Humming frolic loon
Catch up, match up soon
The eloping fragrance scent
The fleeing princess bends
On the gaily silent friend
The Cocktails made
Chilling sweet tide
Fiery floral flame
Glitter sparkle tame
Splutter splatter clime
Feast is served in time
Guests delight in fine
Butterfly pose
Probe in poise
Fingertips minuscule
Tickle tackle pinnacle
Happy snappy exchange
Next gen message
Supernova dies
Life's turn of dice
Rolls to darkest phase
Its a different case
Tobe born again
New journey to gain
A life of better fly
To ply with the wind
The superstar kind
To play the gay
Brown prince butterfly.

What a frightful sight  – Not a tinge of Temperance
Bending down to pick a stone aiming right across the storm
Marching down lower lanes preaching on Tolerance
Searching for proper times for scratching on others' pomp

What a fleet of troll on such role models of fame
Sending down the nerves such shivers to core values
Tease the preach, uproot the sprouts is their wanton game
Spending time in learning should expand their purview.

Stay at home, warm your room; turn off that hot hate news.
Be a stone against storm and build up calm at home
Wash your hands unmask the lamps, read St. John’s good news
Sing a hymn in praise of God - love Him as a norm.

The stark cerebral games, that viral news spiral
Can’t rival a single parable of Bible

Just a third of a bushel o' wheat
Washed and drained to dry in sunlight
Nine to three is the intense heat
Lifting on his left shoulder plate
He cried, Lord what a deadly weight
Laser look beams on mental screen
The via Dolorosa slate
The fall on the third station scene

Under weight of wheat, gleaned and clean
Tobe dried, ground, battered with yeast
The staggered steps to sunroof lean
Yet Lo!  On the last night feast
Lowering Himself to the least
Offered Himself as living bread
The weight of wheat thought got released
As the promise gained over head

Its all to be a little Christ
To keep the life treasure unpriced

Fire began its dance
Stretching fiery hands
Unloosing hair bands
In golden array
Basics of ballet
Pas de Bourree
Ethereal sway
Floating in trance
At fireplace entrance
Blaze in bright intense
Vermilion gold
Silky fluid fold
From bed of ashes
Burning log gnashes
Gnarling scary fangs
Ruddy tongues spread long
Glaring fiery wings
Stepping out touching
Swiping and hopping
Breaking and locking
Lapping and tapping
dancing and dancing
Under round bottom
In still eves of autumn
Holding emotion
Without commotion
Stretching enfolding
The sleek *** belly
From center it slips
To sides of its hips
From the hot mud hearth
Play display in mirth
Engaging hot fans
Steady doting glance
Rubbing with muscles
Around the hot vessels
The fire began its dance
To heat the meat pans

The dim lit wall screened figures, human forms,
Woman or man with long hair tangles
Sitting on horse, drifting on a floating home
A man stands on the banks with goggles


A lady with crook looks down through her nose
Laughing or mocking extends her hand deep-
Etchings; while by her side the siblings cling close
To their parents warm waving ******* in sleep.


The cold hands startle her being misplaced
Strangle holding breath she should faintly rhyme;
"Mom I,  can I have? your hand to embrace?"
For it would help her pass the sleep incline.


A heavy hot hand her mom would poke out
Snugging the hand she would squirt out high  
And fade into deep space like a rocket
Leaving behind flights of hot silent sigh.

But in the middle of nights intervals
She will feel her hands embracing the void
Then the vague fluid figures of mural marvels
Will smile or stare like sleepless wanton Freud


Long later in life she knew they were all
Forms of her gall painting her virtual role

On a sun tanned Sunday noon
The rays are mildly intense
The day is full of events
Street hawkers' horn calls
Ring along narrow walls
Birds sound copious shrill
Proclaim their language skill
"Family Family
We are On Tree, On Tree"
"Caw-Caw" many broods
Tweet in funny moods
On a sun tanned Sunday noon.

The shadows become longer soon
A baboon sneaks in with a spoon
Can I scoop a spoonful of corn?
A squirrel too wooed by this goon
Queues beneath the sun panel boon
Drowsy brown cats on the porch
Perch and watch the girls from church
A draft of air brings to eyes
Smell of smoked chicken thighs
Whiffs of mutton stew stench
With alcoholic punch
From reveling liquor saloon
On a sun tanned Sunday noon