Feel the Christmas slip between the fingers,
In this cool starry night of a December,
While Jim Reeves plays the oldies in a whisper,
Bringing the gift of memories in its train.
Where are the joys and the busy labors,
Built around Bethlehem of a little crib?
Where are the little hands and nimble limbs,
That once prepared the manger for Mary’s child?
Full grown are they into a pair of tentacles,
Choking my two-year-old past by Herod’s orders.
Where can I hide of shame and of mortal pain,
For I hear God calling from the skies of Eden.
I passed a beggar hungry upon the street,
Unable to put up a smile upon this redeeming night,
But nevertheless I turned a priestly slip_
As once upon a time in the Jericho street.
I climbed upon the Christmas tree to kindle the star,
But the three magi would be lost upon their way.
Who will offer gold, frankincense, and myrrh_
To the infant Jesus who is to be born upon this night.
George Manjooran.
