Under the Night Jasmine Tree

Under the night jasmine tree

That blooms in silence of night

And sheds at dawn before sunrise

As if shy of all passing sight

Bends an old woman picking up

Fallen flowers with feeble might!

“What are you doing, Granny?” ask I

Replies she, “Picking up my joy.”

“What will you do with them?”

“In my Lord’s worship I’ll employ.

The Lord who takes care of me

 Who gives all His children a toy.”

My soul, the child, is happy playing

Singing to herself in life alone

Forgetting all that surrounds her

That’s the joy of heavenly zone

Would you pick them up with me

Before the fiery Sun on us shone?

Xavier Bage

8:55 AM, 

Wed, 23 November 2016

Seek a Word of Joy in the Book of Sorrow

 

The prophet stands on high

And speaks to hearts who sigh

Look up to the Lord God kind

He isn’t far, he is near you

Keep seeking and you’ll find

That’s the promise given us

Seek, seek, my child, seek.

The life is book of sorrows

That no living soul borrows

Yet must seek a happy tale

Seek even a sentence in it

Seek, even a word to bail.

As long as time waits for us

Seek, seek, my child, seek

It’s too precious to be wasted

Neither it should it be hasted

Life is a river flowing to the sea

Much we try we can’t halt; so

Give, give life, as much can be

Before the breaths give into death

Seek, seek, my child, seek!

Xavier Bage

Thursday, November 17, 2016

Seek a Word of Joy in the Book of Sorrow

 

The prophet stands on high

And speaks to hearts who sigh

Look up to the Lord God kind

He isn’t far, he is near you

Keep seeking and you’ll find

That’s the promise given us

Seek, seek, my child, seek.

The life is book of sorrows

That no living soul borrows

Yet must seek a happy tale

Seek even a sentence in it

Seek, even a word to bail.

As long as time waits for us

Seek, seek, my child, seek

It’s too precious to be wasted

Neither it should it be hasted

Life is a river flowing to the sea

Much we try we can’t halt; so

Give, give life, as much can be

Before the breaths give into death

Seek, seek, my child, seek!

Xavier Bage

Thursday, November 17, 2016

Brother-Sister to the Gnomes

I will sit by my teddy bear

His silent voice let me hear.

We now squat on the floor

Face to face with each other

“Where are you from?” ask I

“I don’t know. I wonder.

Fell from the sky, I fear.”

“Where d’ you come from?”

Wide eyed he asks of me

“Where from I don’t know too

I came to this good family

They’re not mine, tho’ dear.”

We both are nowhere children

We both are without homes

Children without mom and dad

Brother-sister to the gnomes!

They always stand  to cheer!

Xavier Bage

Tues, Nov 15, 2016

The Boy at the City Dumpsite

He is not more than thirteen

When boys of his age

Would be in class VII or VIII

In any school public or private

He scavenges garbage

The boy at the city dumpsite!

He wears a torn pant on his waist

Carries a tattered shirt on his back

He smells of the odors he handles

He smells of the rot he tramples

He mingles well with the dirt

The boy at the city dumpsite!

In his struggle to live

In his desperate search for food

He trudges through the slush

Expelled matter, human stuff

Living his unlucky boyhood

The boy at the city dumpsite

Xavier Bage

Mon, November 07, 2016