Gratitude

December had with its youth brought the snow;

Too long a view, too long to go.

No rays of sun wandering around,

No birds chirping; No horns, no sound.

A narrow road, too far to sight;

A dismay or fate, if we stay all night!

“Long carried the fate”, said the priest beside,

“No mercy to those having sins to hide”.

I turned my head with an intention to see

The fat man’s tummy reached almost his knee.

Are all the sins inside, thought I.

The priest seemed crooked as the time passed by.

The bus we travelled had broken down,

Over hundred miles to the next big town.

“Alas! The humans don’t understand they

Make angry the Gods, come what may”.

“It was me a fool”, said the priest aloud

“Had my mind gone over the ninth cloud;

I sat out foot at an inauspicious time

The Gods did warn and the clocks did chime”.

All but a soldier listened to what he said,

To find words’ worth or the fun they had.

I too was indulged, it was a lovely game,

To all the worldly humans did the paunchy priest blame.

The soldier stood and stomped aloud,

And asked the priest to shut his mouth.

“Lo!” Said the priest, “the main culprit comes,

He kills Gods beings and the regret he dumps”.

“You, young man, cannot stop me speak

When you yourself within are spiritually weak”.

“The bus stands here in the middle of the road,

Is the outcome of your actions; from the Almighty’s Abode”.

The soldier stood stern with moistened eyes;

For he had killed none but the enemy spies.

He moved out of the bus as swift as a shark,

The priest looked edgy at the move, but hark!

The young man’s motives were not intense,

No harm to the priest, but pain immense.

In his eyes I saw as a moistened pearl,

As he thought of the pain when he left his girl.

For people, I thought, like the fat man,

To the call of duty, the soldier ran.

Yet the priests, the clerks and the country folks,

Cruelly denounce the yield as paltry jokes.

With a gesture of the hand I called him in,

I knew what was certainly going on within,

I patted his shoulder and held his arm,

The sturdy face, I noticed, had lost his charm.

For months away on duty it means,

Severance taking over the strictest beings.

“Oh Holy priest! The man of God”,

I said as Irony gave me a nod.

“Not fair to speak the blather you think,

I am not being rude but your thoughts do stink”.

This man, by me, is deeper than he shows;

The sins or virtues, God only knows.

The bus broke down, is the artificer’s task,

My sense of gratitude I cannot mask.

For this man has killed none but your foes,

His life is tough, not a bed of rose;

As you give your sermon, in the calm and peace,

He stands up there, No! Not at ease.

The chilling wind, that has maddened you now,

Is his daily affair and you know it how.

Stop speaking all bad, shed all disdain

For just once, try to feel his pain.

Meditate on what he suffers, at best

To make sure, at the nights you rest.

The bus has started and the journey begins

For once, just forget the story of the sins

Be a human, free your brain of grime

Praise this man, it will be your best pastime!