HIS CHRISTMAS

Christmas is a splendid festival of joy and jubilee, an occasion that marks the union of people and amalgamation of feelings of delight and ecstasy. However, what does it hold for a boy from a poor household, one whose state he can’t be put to fault for?

A sheen of mirth sparkled bright and loud,
As his eyes espied the jolly sight of charismatic crowd,
An unfamiliar feeling of excitement settled and ran right through his build,
Where his heart seemed to laugh out the sadness he usually wield.

He stood in the corner, shaded and admixed in the night so cold,
Just where the festivity, the hilarity in the clothed children did unfold,
How much he longed to constitute a part of the least of this jamboree,
But who would even cease to hear this little child’s spree.

Hues of heavens and sparks of flurry ran in the electrified twirls,
Digging through his long burrowed wishes, forming an expanse of soothing swirl,
But he knew deep down, his Christmas would be best of all if only,
He got a pound of scavenged food down his empty belly.

Large and boisterous celebrations seem strange, unnecessary to the people he saw,
How would he be exuberant if he just gets the minimal of what he implores,
A table long banquet, delicious food filled plates and shimmering casks,
Is nothing at all of what this aspiring lad asks.

Children of his age run down the corners to forage,
The humongous presents of untouched emotions their parents have come to rummage,
His soul knows best that his Christmas would be the happiest of whole,
If he could somehow manage to get a pair of socks for his bare cold feet at all.

What sorrows has he been forsaken with, just as his age comes to be of endless fun,
His wishes have grown weaker just as the long years turn,
Maybe his downright wish, his strong desire of fun will forever remain unseizable,
Because his Christmas would always remain to be his own imaginary fable.

-SHRUTI PATHAK

6 thoughts on “HIS CHRISTMAS”

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