Father Armand

Here's to Father Armand,

On a snowy winter night..

It is sweet Christmas,

And he kneels with delight..

...but all is not right....

It was a cold day, It was a bad day,

And it had been this way for years,

For Father Armand was the only good soul,

In a land, lost to war-cries and tears.

For there was battle ; and death,

and all that came with it,

And poor father was all alone,

With his God, his will and his wit.

Then came a soldier, wounded in battle,

when Father was asking for grace..

for his people, for his lands,

and for the dead and their rightful place..

In came the soldier, straddling into the prayer hall..

and shouted , " Lord! Do you have a shroud of mercy at all?

For it is your children who are dead, your children who are dying..

And you are letting the city crumble to ashes in the fall ?"

Father raised him by the arm and led him to the Cross,

Upon which lay the Son of God, bound by nail - beaten by dross.

He soothed the soldier , saying it was all a big test.

"for the faith of the people ", and said it was for the best..

The city fell that night, its might defeated,

And Father began to question his belief..

For if there was a God who ever existed,

Surely, He would have come to her relief.

Shattered, Father retreated to his domus,

thinking of his inevitable death at dawn..

When he heard in some distance,

A cry of a baby fawn..

Down he went to the stables and found,

the baby fawn- awoken by a stranger..

Who happened to be a Woman,

In labor- shielding her offspring from impending danger.

He knew the enemy would never find them here..

He also knew what had to be done.

For the woman was in pain,

More pain than anyone.

And Father called out to the helpers-

the ones who tended to the soldier's wounds,

To help the groaning woman become a mother,

While he bore the stench of rot and blood from bodies on nearby grounds.

It was 2 minutes since midnight- the mother had become quiet,

When out came a helper shouting "Father! All's well!".

It was a baby boy and Father was ecstatic,

But even he was not prepared for what the maid was about to tell.

For in the dead of winter- at 12 on 25 December,

A matter of biblical mirth,

Father Armand was told that...

There had been a Virgin Birth.

htnakirs

Weekdays on rails...

A new day dawns, and he awakes from his bed,

Only to go asleep once again- u'd think he was dead.

Disheveled hair, untucked shirt, he runs to catch the train,

Trying to make up for lost time spent dreaming of winter rain.

He is late, as expected, and is last in line..

At the queue, under the callous sun - shining a bit too fine.

He pays his 6 rupees, and places the holy grail in his pocket,

And holds on to it for dear life, now he knows how the Templars felt.

For he is on a train, from Pallavaram to Guindy...

with the world and its people - some queer some dandy.

Following the clickety-clack of steel wheels, assisted by a zillion a banter,

He reaches his end of the cubicle, one share auto and 9 floors later.

He logs in, He starts his day, and all seems fine and gay,

With breaks in the morning, breaks at noon, breaks in the evening - well, a million breaks a day...

Till its time to end the play, for it is time to break away- It was a useless day anyway..

He take a bus back, crowded to the brim,

And he realizes that the population needs a trim.

Ten depressing kilometers and 30 rupees after,

He enters the hallowed portals of his house - his greatest disaster.

For while the rooms are neat and tidy, not at all unruly,

There is an unfathomable void, in the life of yours truly.

And he is alone, writing a poem in his computer- his one true love (and his bike of course),

When he should be doing great things, if only he had the resolve,the courage and the force..

htnakirs