That old church of Sacred Heart
Draws my heart time
and again,
My mind in dreams or trance --
is pulled with a rope or chain.
At Nagrakata station so flowery
The roaring Jaldhaka
flows beside,
Trains wish to tarry a
little more
To make a romance of the ride
To the hills of Bhutan in the north
Winding thru’ tea gardens green,
The single lane road climbs up
At the hump the church is seen.
The sleepy shops of Champaguri
Wake to bustle on market days,
As workers from the tea estates
Throng through the hilly ways.
The deep valleys on two sides
My eyes they beacon and call,
There’s nothing I can do to resist
In the embrace of beauty I fall.
Saint Mary’s Boarding
School
Where my dad was but not I,
Over the Convent of St. Capitanio
My spirit like dove does fly.
Fr. Lazzaroni and Fr. Artico brave
And other missionaries of old,
Stand on the bungalow verandah
Bless Christ’s humble faithful fold.
Oh Nagrakata of dear memory,
Wherever like you can
I meet?
Unique you are, so you
will remain
Heaven’s gem in my heart beat!
Xavier Bage
Mon, September
01, 2016
image:pixabay
