NOEL

Baskets filled with finger-sandwiches weather the footfall
of receding winters.
Luncheons planned
for year-end unities
go into hiding
along with guests,
lost to the era.
Such a funereal period,
these final five days
have brought us
the misty intimacies
of gloom.

Everything is touched
by this remission of Spirit.
Everything is corrupted.

Everything is corrupted…..
Everything is in remission…..
We circle the same gyre
Fate heaped us with,
in a monopoly of disinterest
we make our own.

***

We have to
dislocate Malice
and make the best
out of discrete indoors.

**

If Christmas
brings a red bloom
and all colours go pale,
bring in a hibiscus
to the central table;
make its red bloom
take first place.

If a hearty festive dinner
no longer passes muster,
pour bottles
of cranberry juice
into your favourite carafes
and pass the season’s cheer
around.

If then
no other face seems friendly
and every screen fades to black
before midnight,
tear through the rowdy crowds,
past the barricades
at the town square,
make it to St. Joseph’s Cathedral
in an act of defiance
against the decibels of isolation
and reach Him,
your only beloved
and friend
as he opens his arms,
in epiphany
of you
finally coming out
of your shell.

***

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