Christmas to me.Means…

..."I’m dreaming of a White Christmas": the first carol I sang as a kid.holds my favourite...still till eternity

...Making or/and ultimately buying Christmas cards and gifts for everybody and anybody. Also for the humble self…

...Drawing endless Christmas trees on text books, desks, walls, hands and…any draw-able surface.

...Imagining the whole of North Pole…

...Winter-recess at school-but also not wanting to bye-bye with friends…

...My favourite home-English tutor Mrs. Kathleen-her bestowing of a fluent tongue and most importantly her home-mixed coconut-fruit Christmas cakes and the un-seconded egg-tomato round bread Easter sandwiches for Christmas.

...Helping Mrs. Kathleen to wrap up cakes and a bunch of goodies for her Christmas parties on Christmas-eve, on Christmas Day and on New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day.

...Waiting for the parties, it’s superb climax-the great un-veiling of gifts.

...Plunging deep inside the podgy couch, and watching non-stop Christmas cartoon marathons on Cartoon Network. Christmas can never be complete without Cartoon Newtwork.

...Delivering Nahoums dark fruit cake, horse-shoe and other pastries from Kathleen at familial with papa.

...Decorating my own Christmas tree.

...Standing on the veranda, at night, ogling-stars, singing ‘silent night’ in near-perfect tune-feeling cold-And feeling good.

-

…hoping to sight a sudden shooting star or better still-a sledge…

...Wondering if Santa would deliver gifts to Muslim kids-but, ending up with plentiful bounty, anyways always…

Christmas for me, is about believing---in miracles, not just that miracles exist, but the faith that, miracles do occur---

That some one will always deliver---That someone does, always, hover over you, like a silent, shiny star.

Having faith, means being a child.Being a child means having this faith. Being a child means, taking pride in what one believes in. For me Christmas is being in faith. In being a child. For me everyday is Christmas. Every day is a new miracle to believe in. Everyday, by believing, I negate the uncertainty and the cynicism, which means-growing up.

          Everyday, I don’t grow up, but I simple believe.

This for me is Christmas

          And this is Christmas for me.

Winter in a sparrow

A little sparrow often flutters in, while I am on my laptop. She gets precariously busy instantly, chirping rapidly across the room. I switch off the fans, when she gets thus excited, and leave her some bread on the window-sill, which is devoured by crows, but never gets to her. But she never complains. All she does, is she chirps, and gives me happy company, without a word. Ideal. Perfect. She never flies to any other part of the house. I know, that sparrow, is a she, because she chirps, in rhythm. She is so much like me. I am so much like her. But she like being quiet. Just like me.

Today, when I woke up, my mother, motioned me to a soft little lump, in one corner of our hall. Under the large windows, I couldn’t first place, what it was. So much light. And below, lay a sparrow, dead, a little spot of shadow, under the large windows of light. The little sparrow, had not a sign of injury on her body. Her eyes were open, but not in pain. I stroked it's head. I had always wanted to touch her,feel her, but she flew away, even if I budged from my place. Today I picked her up, and placed her carefully aside, to be buried. She did not retaliate today. 

Whenever she lost her way in,thus to my room, on purpose, I always imagined her chirping, I always imagined it coded a message for me.

Now, I’ll never know, what it meant.

Todays morning, is a hope for winter, in the middle of an uncharacteristically hot October. Winter is setting in perhaps. The sparrow was cold.I feel cold.

Wise-Dom

~A poet is admired by ignorants

And challenged by fools~

I mean...

What is it with the word LITERATURE?
Why is everyone suddenly using it?
And for all things not literary at all?
Literature on medicine,cinema, sex?
WHY? What is with inventing pretentious and obnoxious contemporary terms?
And, also, on a sidenote, Telegraph T2, you are the worst curse on journalism, ever.
You are beyond sense and redemption.
I abhor you.
And stop using the word literature, sans context.
Shameful.Indeed.

My Two Liners

You stop believing in mysteries

You stop believing in God.

~!~