To be or not to be . To make a choice a curse I say. With free will, spoilt are we. Faced with many a recourse, the choice we make is seldom right, leaving us with regrets and remorse.

Each decision we make, leads to a choice, every path we take leads to more decisions. Some choices we make in a heartbeat, others after much deliberation, but no path we take is ever perfect,

Seemingly irrelevant choices, at times lead to momentous decisions . The opening of a door or shutting of one, can decide the future of our life. Whether an angel we shut out, or the devil we let in, only time will tell .

More often than naught, choices we make, are ruled by passions and emotions. But with changing circumstances, our desires and needs they change, leaving the once ideal choice unsound and redundant. Oh what irony !

Standing at each milestone we gaze, down paths that are two or more. But ignorant of what lies ahead, our decisions are made in confusion, resulting in disorder and mayhem. Oh how then we rue the day !

I ask the Lord my Saviour, Jesus Christ, if when faced with death by crucifixion, tormented and reviled, He had a choice ? To be or not to be that sacrificial lamb, to save humanity from purgatory? Or, was it His to just follow the Will of the Almighty?

Oh then spare me the burden of a choice, what a burden it is to carry ? Spare me now this free will, with many a choice to make . Let me, like birds that fly, be free of decisions to make and follow the path that is defined, by nature and the Divine. For, are not the things we don’t choose, our soul, our body, our family, that make us who we are ?

Today a special day, dedicated to fathers they say . But how do you ever forget the one, who gave you life, carried you from infancy, who walked you to school , waited outside on your first day at work, who led you up the aisle on your wedding day ?

My father a simple and gentle man, cheerful, with a smile for most everyone. He never was on a battlefield or a hero , but was always my champion, my favourite man .

Though we were three, he doted on me. Being the one in the middle and plain, I was often overlooked. But to him I was the little princess, the one who made him proud .

There was no talent he did not bestow on me, when talking to family and friends. Be it singing , dancing or oratory skills. Each one of my small victories were magnified and made legendary.

Regaling us with tales of mythology and lore, as children he turned our dinner time magical. Each spoonful ,of the otherwise insipid food was made immensely palatable.The songs he sang as lullaby, still haunt my ears at night.

Household chores never frowned upon, he helped my mother, with no rancour. A kind person was he and never said ‘no’ , to anyone who sought his aid. Sacrificing his own comfort, he lent a hand, even to the least of his brothers .

It broke his heart when he lost his youngest, Never was he the same again .The latter years he spent, mourning her loss . His solace, the two who were left .

It was on the day, after my forty fifth birthday, that he breathed his last. With one last blessing, one last felicitation, he was gone, at the age of eighty Never a day goes by, that I don’t recall those times of joy and love, shared with my father .

The one who taught us, life is never easy but to be brave and face it with courage. To respect people and if possible, never turn down a request for help. To always smile, even in the worst travail and no task is too difficult or menial.

It’s thirty days and ten, since death struck .You drew your last breath. You were gone, never to walk the earth again, your gentle voice, to be heard no more, your smiling face, never to be seen .

Does the earth miss your footsteps? Does the sun mourn your death? Does the whistling wind call out your name? Did the stars hide their face and the moon turn red in the shadows, as nature wept your loss .

Of the eagle that soars high I enquire, if you are happy there, up in the sky. Of the cuckoo that sings a sad song, I ask, if she has seen the one I lost. From the dragonfly that alights, I seek a message from the world beyond.

Of time I ask, to take me on the wings of a dream , to our childhood , a time that was and never can be . A time when we learnt to fly kites, to swing on the boughs of trees. Chasing butterflies grazing our knees, we cried for one another.

A time when music was our craze, you played the guitar to my falsetto .Melancholic songs and rollicking ones, filling our home with music and laughter. A time when The Beatles was our favourite band, The Sound of Silence, our favourite song, and not a way of life.

Time went by and we drifted apart, walked away to lead our own life. But as kin bound with the cords of love, we held strong in the worst strife. With you gone, alone I am, but a part of you will remain in me, until we meet again.

Now you walk where angels tread, in peace you rest, with our loved ones who have gone ahead and I will weep for you no more. In the golden rays of the sun your face I see, hear your voice on the gentle breeze, the rhythm of my heart speaks your name and memory like a cloak I wear, as I rise each morning.

A battered and beleaguered Soul, after his earthly sojourn stood before his Maker, seeking answers for the torment and trials he faced .

Asking the Lord why he was sent to the land below, ill equipped as he was ? Why he had been made to suffer, the indignity and torture of a human life ?

With assurance of constant care, he had set out with no fears, on the journey. But waiting on promises of prosperity, from above, all he had faced was untold misery and penury .

Why had he been formed, with frailty and error to repeatedly commit folly ? Why was he created to be his own enemy, unforgiving and full of regrets? Why had he not been bestowed the wisdom, the resilience, to survive the wicked world ? Relying on victory from heaven, he had endured only failure and defeat .

Filled with strife and grief , his life had been fraught with misfortune, his very existence on earth, questionable. He asked his Lord the reasons, for having been abandoned .

Smiling gently , the most High said, weep not son for you are my precious one. Each tear you shed I have counted, your grief I have shared . When you were alone, my arms enfolded you, it was I who befriended you .

It was my grace that absolved you, sustained you in your weakest moments. My light that saved you, even in your darkest hour. It was my hand that soothed your pain, touched your brow to heal you. I carried you through the raging storms and kept you safe beneath the shadow of my wings.

When all was lost, I consoled you, with fresh hope and new beginnings. When you found life overwhelming, I renewed your spirit with Mine. It was through your trials, I revealed my miracles, the power of love and faith, to you and those around. Above all, My salvation I gave and brought you safely home to Me.

Finally understanding the purpose of his life, liberated from the shackles of doubt and fear the soul was filled with immense peace. Ecstatic, he basked in the warm glow of Love that surrounded him, knowing this was his eternity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was the ides of March, the day that bode ill, for Caesar and the mighty Roman Empire, as foretold by the old crone the soothsayer, on the morn of March fifteenth.

It was a time of bereavement, a time of grief, a time when hope had fled, leaving behind a thick cloud of gloom, that no ray of light could cleave, until the ides of March .

It was the fifteenth of March, the day our beautiful son was born. His first cry heralded a new beginning and healed our broken spirit, his first smile brought warmth,to the winter of our hearts.

This sleeping child, an angel from heaven, renewed our faith,when all was lost. A fresh lease of hope he brought, with the promise of many tomorrows. Shifting from under the staggering weight of loss, we found the spring of life again . From darkness to light, from sorrow to happiness ,we were transported on the ides of March .

To my darling son , on his birthday.

Into the arms of our mother we are born, as we arrive in this unknown world. From our first breath, from life’s first cry, she enfolds us until her final breath .

It is her arms that cradle us, her hands that rock us to sleep. It is a mother’s arms that soothe our fears, her hands that wipe our tears. Ensconced in her arms, loved and protected, the world we view is magical.

In her arms we learn to talk, it is her hand we hold tight, as we learn to walk, to take our first steps. Those arms are strong and gentle. At times to console, at times to protect, at times to take up arms to defend us, and then at times, to chastise .

Never idle, they work ceaselessly, to nourish our body and enrich our mind . Wisdom they impart and teach us well, to guide us through life’s perilous journey. Praising our small victories , they encourage us and turn even our failure into success.

When trouble comes knocking , it is to her arms we run for shelter. Burdened by the the weight of trials, we find respite in her warm embrace. Sharing our joys and our sorrows, a mother walks with her child, through the hazards of life.

The arms of a mother, always ready to serve are our constant source of succour. And when they can do so no more, they are joined together in prayer, beseeching the heavens above, to be to her children her hands .

But as time goes by, those arms grow weak and frail. Once our sustenance ,now our dependants , they rely on us for their being . When that time comes, may each child care for those selfless arms that nurtured and gave them life .

 

A life snuffed out. Another covid fatality, statistics to most, as the country is ravaged by the virus and its mutants. But for that one lost life, for the family a painful grief. A father, a mother, a sibling, a lover, to be mourned forever.

It is news in the papers, on the radio. The television airing haunting pictures of devastation. Thousands dead and ten thousands struck ill. But It is never personal, until that moment when it is the one you care, your flesh and blood .

Did death not in his callous dance, pause a moment to see, the carnage in his wake? Those orphaned, grieving hearts left behind, bidding farewell to loved ones without even a goodbye. The old they died, the sick never survived, is this nature’s natural selection?

Who then is responsible, for this monumental injustice,? Is it human negligence, or our fate, is it God’s heavy hand of retribution, or the evil powers of the cosmic world wreaking havoc for recreation?

For one man’s painful cry for breath, a whole nation burned and we blamed it on racism. Now a whole nation cries for breath, but who do we call, who do we blame, who do we burn but those hapless corpses.

Oh how long before this trial ends, this unstoppable spate of dying, of friends and foe, of dear ones? Some, their dreams not yet fulfilled, others on the brink of a new life. All those Lives extinguished, wasted.

Will the Powers that be not rest, until they exact vengeance, for our life of depravity? Or are they claiming .the righteous, leaving behind the wretched, weeping and gnashing their teeth?

 

Dedicated to my dear brother, Jacob Kuriakose, who succumbed to covid last week. RIP

A day of sacrifice, an act of love , the Cross of atonement, of forgiveness, of freedom and of hope. A day to commemorate the death of Christ our Lord on that cross. He who died to deliver us from the bondage of sin.

Led like a lamb to the slaughter, sinless though He was, He took on our transgressions. Wearing our crown of iniquity, the Son of God, carried our cross, though a curse to Him. Did He have a choice ?

The Cross, our symbol of Redemption but for Jesus the man, it was a weight too heavy to bear. Bent under the burden He carried the demeaning log. His flesh covered with a mantle of stripes, rendered by the whip of those, who once called Him Master .

Though found innocent, He was condemned by those He came to save, sentenced by those He loved. Crucified along with thieves, alone He stood in His suffering, reviled and rejected by everyone. Even His Heavenly Father turned away awhile and the Heavenly Hosts, rendered silent for a moment.

Laying down His life to save us, His ultimate sacrifice of love, His ministry of three years on earth, culminating in His crucifixion. Dying for us and rising again, He conquered death by death, reconciled us to His Father, our Creator, by restoring our fallen race.

On the third day, with the rising sun, we celebrate our Lord’s Resurrection. Bathed in the glow of His salvation, we believe in His forgiveness and welcome Him, the Prince of Peace, into our hearts. Cleansed by His precious blood, we rejoice in knowing, we are made worthy of eternity, that which was once lost to us .

I come not bearing gifts of gold and silver, for your heavenly coffers overflow with plenty. It is not precious metals that please thee, metals that pale into insignificance, in the light of your countenance.

Talents I have not many to cheer thee. My words lack wit to amuse . The vocabulary I have, though flowery, fails to describe your sovereignty and glory, your mercy and grace .

My voice no match to the angels above, who sing sweetly your praise all day .Mine a quaver in contrast, cannot delight thine ears with a song.

I approach not with a harp or tambourine nor the musical flute . For the music I create, can never compare, to the melody of heavenly hosts crying, Hallelujah.

Food offerings none I bring, though my fare a bountiful gift from thee. For you seek not appeasement with nourishment, not with that which can never equal the banquet of heaven.

But I come before thee, once again, with the sacrifice of my broken life, lay down before thee, my shattered dreams . With my heart full of repentance, my tears I spill at your feet. Accept my pertinence and heal me oh God and make me whole again. Breathe life into my dying spirit and raise me from the mire, again .

As the tired body lays down at night,like troubled waters churns the mind ,stealing the much needed rest, those worries they rise one by one .

Pushing and jostling for attention, some more than the others, they line up, one after the other, while the weary body, tossing and turning, tries to find safety in oblivion,

Who are these creatures, these demons, that haunt and torment at night? A niggling doubt a distant rumble, soon gathering momentum and engulfing like a wave

Lurking in the back of the mind, they manifest and magnify, to fill our consciousness, when work is set aside. To steal that much needed sleep which remains remarkably elusive .

Thoughts of poor choices made, of altercations had during the day. The careless actions, unkind words, of self and others. Replaying scenes, enacting various outcomes, over and over again .

Useless regrets, bitter remorse, and mindless retributions planned. Overpowering jealousy and vain longing for things not meant to be. All come crowding in to keep us awake, those unwelcome demons of the night .

Anxious moments we have, over our health and our wealth. Overwhelming thoughts causing disquiet that cripples and paralyses, controlling our hearts and minds, as we succumb to panic.

Loneliness that accompanies the dark, the distance we feel when the lights turn off. What is it that lends credibility, to those baseless fears and doubts, in the dead of the night ?

Shutting the door to the faceless tormentors, pushing them out the exhausting worries, tossing and turning,we await sleep .Finally, that much anticipated blissful slumber.! For a few hours we lose ourselves, in restful dreams or fearful nightmares ,until wakefulness, until when morning,

Through the day, busy once again, we wonder about those nameless terrors. waiting on the threshold of our mind, feeling their pressure as they stand by, to gain entry when we are vulnerable again .