O Walker, Do Watch as You Pass

O walker, do watch as you pass,

There is beauty to see here too;

Dew drops on wee flowers and grass.

Majestic sure snow capped peaks,

So are dunes where children play;

See how your treasure of joy leaks.

Long bridges, palaces big, tall towers,

Speak of your engineering knowledge;

Build tiny homes to prove your powers.

The thick mist in air blurs the vision,

Can you be a ray to tear the gloom?

You are here to complete a mission.

You have walked many a paths false,

Return, O man, to the feet of the Savior;

The Way, the Life and the Truth calls.

Xavier Bage

XI Sept 'XIII

Distant Whistles

Distant whistles, where do they come from?

Are they horns of the night trains?

Are they sirens of 24 hour factories?

 Are they groans of the suffered pains?

Are they cries of the people in cyclones

Or of the thousand travelers in seas?

Of the Titanic and many other vessels?

Or of the fighters dying in the leas?

Distant whistles, what is your secret?

Are you the wails of those who mourn?

Are you the longings of the sad hearts?

Pulling the days of chained life in sojourn?

Is there no peace, no rest for you at all?

What do you want me do, anyone say.

In the loving plan of the merciful God

There’s salvation for all on a happy bay.

Xavier Bage

XI Oct, 'XIII

My Son Quarreled with Me

A young elephant son was killed inhumanly in a human village. I am trying to express his mother's tearful grief with my incompetent words.

Can't We Live in Harmony

My son quarreled with me,
And stomped away angry.
There has been no food for us,
For days we have been hungry.

“The house animals,” said he,
“Loot our food from home.
Destroy and disturb our life,
As they rampage and roam.”


He and his two friends in need,
Strayed into the settlement.
Ate of sundry fruit and vegetable,
And moved about and rent.

Noise and shout filled the air,
People ran out in night.
Each calling out to the other,
In burning torches’ light.

A shot was heard in dark,
That felled my son in the field.
He was a youth of large physique,
Had nothing with him to shield.

His companions fled to the forest,
To save their life and skin.
While my only son lay lifeless,
Alone, without kith or kin.

They wrenched his teeth first,
Then they cut off his feet.
Each took off a piece as memento,
To the progeny, a pride of treat.

His remains could not be brought,
For any rites of funeral.
Neither could we have a glimpse,
Of him before his burial.

They buried him where he lay,
Without respect or tears.
The cruel two-legged animals
Everyone hates and fears.

Can’t all animals live in harmony,
Not intruding on others’ domain?
Isn’t this planet our common home,
Its water, green, sun and rain?

Xavier Bage

Insult Me Not

The donkey is thought to the symbol of foolishness. We laugh at a foolish person by calling him "donkey". We also look down upon people for their colored skin, social habits, their professions etc.

Insult me not because I am a donkey,
Don’t look down upon my birth.
I have a place in God’s creation,
I have a value on the earth.
I was there in the stable,
when the Messiah was born.
I carried Him to His capital,
with hosanna sounds of horn.
I can transport any load,
which you can only glance.
I will bend my head down,
and walk to any distance.

Insult me not for my colored skin,
Don’t sneer at my eyes or nose.
They are what nature gave us,
We can only take a pose.
What is infinitely precious,
is placed deep inside me .
You could be a blind fool,
if you degrade and deride me.
What becomes of our colors,
what happens to our shape,
when the earth embraces us,
and covers us with a drape?

We fill our brains with facts,
but fail to be truly wise.
if from our petty attitudes
unfortunately, we fail to rise.
If we don’t look far beyond,
and don’t see the truth eternal .
Should we be licking the coir
when we should enjoy the kernel?
Look at God’s great garden,
and appreciate its vast variety.
See if you can worship Him there,
and grow in prayer and piety.

                 +++

Posted in Wikinut

March 14, 2013

Xavier Bage

              

Don't Take Sorrows to Your Core

Do not take it to your heart

If a thorn pricks you

under your sole.

Do not take it to your heart

If a pain hovers over your head

Like a mosquito.

Don’t take it to your heart

If someone does not turn up

as he had promised

In two hours or twelve

Each one has burdens to carry

Each one has battles to fight.

Do not take it to your heart.

There are many other things

More important and meaningful

to do and spend our life on,

more precious and worthy of heart.

Why brood the eggs of unhappiness?

Count not the thickets and thorns

Count the moments of joy and grace

Do not take sorrows to your core.

Let them be blown away with winds

These birds can hover over you  head

Let them not build nests in your heart.

Xavier Bage

Wed, Sept 23, 2015

Chariots of Fire

Many women of the village pass by my house on their bicycles with various kinds of loads. None of them is highly educated or highly placed. Still, they can be aptly called "women of substance". I dedicate this poem to them and their sisters all over the world.

 

I see them silently pass by my room,
Carrying a child to school on the pillion,
Or bundles of umbrellas to earn a little;
By pushing a needle times a million
To save their family, from a looming doom.

They unflinchingly split wire from tyres.
They never shirk from completing a deed.
They never tire from carrying a load,
Rice or vegetable, whatever they need,
To keep burning the cooking hearth fires.

They attend meetings at their kid’s school,
After classes they bring them back home.
They have no time for gossiping or cards,
They have no leisure anywhere to roam,
Ever on the move, rain or shine, hot or cool.

They cook, clean, wash, weed, tug and toil,
They work, so they don’t need a work out,
Neither do they need a gym to keep slim.
Quietly, patiently, constantly like the ants,
They tread the paths ignoring sand or soil.

They are in the farms to help their men,
They are in the block office for a signature;
Attend the hospital to nurse their sick child.
Persons of substance they are, a magic mixture-
Of virtues, valor, vigor, vigil and acumen.

Made of the same metal their bicycles are,
The women on bicycles, I greatly admire,
They are truly worthy of praises and prizes;
The super creatures, the chariots of fire
With loads on their hearts, yet traveling far.

                           
                             ***

Posted in Wikinut

April 20, 2013

Xavier Bage

Enter through the Narrow Door

A narrow door or a stony path,

 To a traveler, is not all inviting;

Walking on a thorn- filled way,

To any one’s feet, is not exciting.

But to a narrow door truly sure,

Points the dear risen Savior Lord,

“Enter through the narrow door,

For behind it awaits your reward.”

He walked the lonely path of pain,

And suffered the crown of thorns.

He burned himself as sacrifice and

With his blood broke Satan’s horns.

Then only he won the precious keys

To open the locked door of heaven,

For the millions who walked after him;

To receive the reward God has given.

Walk through the narrow path, son,

Don’t fear the pain of education.

Make a habit of patient endurance,

For that’s the secret to redemption.

If you want to succeed toil and toil,

Climb and climb to reach the peak.

Walk through the path of honesty,

For therein lies the prize you seek.

Xavier Bage

August 28, 2013