See the woman –
Mother of two
Wife of none –
walking miles and miles of austere solitude
perchance one of these days, luck will bring her
close to mother Teresa.
But Mother Teresa is a history
papyrus only necromances.
See the orphans fostered by lack
living in sties of decrepit affection.
These are the ones who atone for the sins
of their parents:
sins lasting few libidinal seconds.
Dawns and dusks of each day
they become dramatis personas of a dreary tale
told by hungers and thirsts of suckleable love in
the bosom of humanity.
They defy everyday
the plague of the ultraviolet
granted more translucent parole by the C02 of
In seasons of precipitation,
they bathe in splashes of water scooped by the
of the creme de la creme.
Leprosy for most of them
is their patrimony from nature’s will.
No limbs, no nose.
No phalanges, no comely physiognomy.
No home, no foam.
No nothing, no something.
Listen ye reader
to the tears of providence.
The world needs not a messiah on a saddle.
It needs a little love.
The world needs not many a sermon.
It needs just a little practice.
POET’S NOTE: I’m of the belief that love
shouldn’t be seasonal. It should be daily
expressed. But how often we all breach this!
Let’s use this Christmas as a springboard to a
daily life of loving the indigent around. Kiss
someone this Christmas.