My Love Like a Fresh Moon Rise

I don’t know where she is

I don’t know how she lives

It pains my heart in the core

She the first love of my heart

Who couldn’t be my life’s part

Far from each other our fate tore.

In some distant foreign  lands

She lends her serving hands

Has she reconciled to her pain

In  my memory does she pine?

Am I alive in her as she is in mine?

Or in everything does she abstain?

Will she to me some day return

Will tides some day our way turn

Can I make of my love a present

Thorns my heart have tattered

Dreams cruel winds have shattered

Poles of my tent pitifully bent!

Tender  memories to me  oft flow

Turning my sad dark room aglow

Transporting  me to a lost paradise

How long this breath may prolong

Some day it must stop the song

My love, like a fresh moon rise!

Xavier Bage

Thurs, Nov 1, 2018

The Times and The Hormones

 




















How those little girls who used to play

in the village meadow

And used to go to the government primary school

have changed.

They now ride cycles to their high schools

and to the tuition classes

With a mobile attached to their ear

Chatting, giggling, loudly

And sometimes whispering softly

When they don’t want other ears to hear!

Those little girls are not children any more

The hormones have done their work

With the passage of time

Attractive features of womanhood have appeared

on their angelic body of yesterday

Those girls are not innocent anymore.

They  tell lies to their parents and

Land in places different from what

Their mom or dad they told

They do things what their mummy or papa

Don’t expect of them in their dreams.

These girls are angels no more.

The times and the hormones

have done their work on them!

Xavier Bage

Sat,  27 Oct, 2018

His Voice and His Words

I heard His voice

in the chirping of the birds,

in the whispering of the wind,

in the murmuring of the stream,

even in the silence of the night;

but He spoke to me  clearly in words

when I opened His Book

and read it with a listening heart.

Xavier Bage

Friday, Oct 26, 2018

My Childhood Sits There Somewhere

The blue hills afar touching

Black and white clouds above

The green slopes nearby mild

Rolling down to the happy brook

Rushing like a restless child!

My childhood sits somewhere

There in a meditative mood

Under a green shady tree

My memories like angels holy

Flying about feisty and free!

How my heart longs sighing

In waking and in my dreams

For those hills and tea estate

Far from that singing brook

Who knows where flings our fate!

Xavier Bage

Wed, Oct 24, 2018

Because He Suffered the Whiplashes

Because He suffered the whiplashes

The scourges on my back don’t bite,

Because he was nailed to the tree

The life’s nails have become slight.

The wound in my chest gains power

‘cause a spear pierced his loving side,

His sacrifice on the hill  redeemed me

I live because for me he willingly died!

Xavier Bage

Sunday, October 21, 2018

First Thoughts

When the tender light of dawn

Heralded the approaching day

And the birds sang their first song

On the silhouetted branches of trees

I woke up and raised my first thought

To the Lord God, my adoration bowed

The thirst of my seeking soul is quenched

And my whole being rejoices in His gifts!

Xavier Bage

Tuesday, October 16, 2018

The Quarrel On The King's Highway

 

The quarrel on the King’s Highway

The Rajpath of the largest democracy is no different

From what we see and hear in our mohallas

The opposition leader called the top executive

A thief for the arms deal he secretly made

With the President of a European nation

And for the country nephew he made a middleman!

For bypassing the accomplished national builder

And depositing unconditional trust on a greenhorn

Who hasn’t assembled a toy airplane to date

The responsibility of building fighter jets

To secure the motherland from inimical neighbors

What can the businessman do,

though for two generations reputed he may be?

The powerful call the boy many names

They employ their departments to malign him

They drag his family members

And smear any relative of him they find

All the media cannons they could turn at him

All the ministers with any voice

Male, female, blogging and slogging!

How could the young son of a gun

Have the temerity of pointing a finger

At the graybeard, with no children to rear

And no wives and women to please

With no safeboxes to store stolen money

How could the baby born yesterday

Dare to challenge the saintly man on the throne?

We’ve heard some great historian said

So truly, “Power corrupts

and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

Arrogance and belligerence are its illegitimate brood.

the boy is saying things which are rattling

The powers that be! Why so?

People can sense the truth of his words!

Xavier Bage

Sat, 29 September 2018