The Priest and Santa Claus

The bearded man all filled and happy

Dressed in bright red, stomping his might.

The priest was dressed in a faded white,

Worry creased forehead, pockets all empty.

  

They set out one morn, each with a bag,

One was full and laden, the other was bare.

One had joy, the other to fill with what's spare.

Want and woe held together in a cloth rag.

And everywhere people were most eager

To grab the good and dump their bad

But that's the truth of all man, though sad

To seize the best and give off their meagre.

At the end of the day they met down the path,

And sat down silently beside for a long while,

Emptied of happiness, filled with man's whine,

To be remembered only when want again starts.

Said the priest "We've done our best anyway,
Hope there's still some good cheer left in you"

Santa slowly replied "And glad tidings to you too.

I still worry, most of them think it's my birthday"

Where Else ? - India

The Gujju, The Bihari, The Rajasthani
The Dubai just returned Malayalee
The Madrasi, The Bengalee, The Punjabi.
For instant beauty - a pack of ‘fair & lovely’

Where else does the sun rise on so many different faces? 
Where is there unity in so many races? 

The banker, the potter, the astrologer, the techie
The teacher, the baker, the beggar, a doctor in Reiki.
The Colonel, the smuggler, the executive in the mall
Pay hike, CTC, 'Increment' the biggest problem of them all

The extravagantly rich, the not so, to the penniless poor.
Live together in diversity, beauty and want of more.

Samosa, Avial, Bhel Phuri, Chutney
Chicken Biriyani, Kabab, Limited Meals Ready
Payasam, Jamun, Jangiree, hot hot Jalebbi, 
Diabetic ice cream 100 % sugar free

A plate of full meals, coloured, sweet, curried and spiced
To thrill the tongue and water eyes.


Cyclist, angry motorists, policeman, autos, 
No Hand Signal, Traffic Jam, unlimited Pot holes
Cars bikes planes trains jataka
Please sound horn Ok TaTa.

In the middle of all this noise, pollution, din and confusion
Sits that cool composed cow, unmoved by motion.

Bollywood, Tollywood, Kollywood, Sandalwood? ouch, 
The Hero, the item, the villain, the critic, the couch
Dance, action, music, love in flesh tones gyrate
New release, CD, DVD immediately available pirate.

3 hours of songs, action, dreams and fulfillment
Young beauties chased by actors past retirement.


Weightlifter, Shooter, Cyclist, Kabadi. Khokho
Athlete on drugs the Olympics please forego.
20-20, Stars, Cricketer, cameraman at silly mid-on
Our chances of winning sometimes simply long gone.

We applaud, we cry, we rave, we support with might, 
But why can’t those guys in the middle put on a little fight.

Ladder symbol, Flower symbol, hand symbol, recycle symbol.
Please vote for me I won't make life so terrible.
Will end poverty, build roads, bridges and dams, 
But also kindly excuse me, I have to make a few grabs 

It’s we the people against them and their selves
But we’re proud of our nation as we question – Where else? 

India my country 

Vanities

The priest stood by the grave of the great thinker and said
'Oh wise man why do you gloat in your wisdom, if this is your end? '
Will your knowledge carry you past the dark's eventual embrace,
For the foolish and the wise the grave accepts without a name.
'Will the reason that has been your god, now show its face,
For the vanity of understanding, in death, an earthy silence claims'.

Then the priest stood by the grave of beauty and in a loud voice said
'If this is your end, oh beauty, what will you mirror when you're dead? '
Just as the vines of Charm is deceptive and Beauty is as fleetly,
The pleasure of a youthful reflection is slowly cracked and worn.
When time's laugh lines wrinkle, and ages the youth of its vanity,
Then petals and thorns of the rose forever embrace on cold stone.

And coming to the grave of wealth the priest looked down and said,
'If this is your end oh riches, of what purpose beyond a Will being read?'
How effortlessly the earth puts a shroud over your great authority,
When Your own kingdom bids you farewell and crowns another.
When the vanity of your wealth is silenced for all eternity,
Can all the gold hoarded over the years buy you another summer?

Finally the priest stood by the grave of a little child and said,
'Oh grave what reason do you have for this, so tiny a bed? '
Here wisdom's reason still has not cast a doubt
Here beauty's reflection this little face untempt
Here wealth's unending greed no claim sought out
Here lies innocence untouched by vanity... He wept.



Inspired by the words of the final prayer and exhortation in the funeral service liturgy of the Mar Thoma Church

I was dead before I was born

When I realized life existed, I was old
Maybe about three, or that's when I was told
I was alive, why that's what it's called; a life
Life to you, to me, was a soul resting on a knife.

My parents where the good sisters of God
To think He needed a family, now that's odd,
While I was born without a single one,
But the many that's strangely called Nun

When old enough they told me I had AIDS
Ironically it was of no help, as hope fades
By birth I was gifted with a death sentence
An unwarranted life term of imposed penance.

Was I born to be an example to you?
The results of sin, or desire. An adieu?
A mistake, a desire, a passion gone wrong
But why me a victim of love's wrong song?