A Time to Pray (A seasonal poem)

 

Near the border, beyond the searchlights’ reach,

A child is born. No one is rejoicing.

Not his mother, too cold and scared to weep

The broken tears of happiness. Elsewhere,

The father fights to the front of the queue

For bread or rice. A truncheon lays him out.

Darkness: the boy is warmed, in straw, by beasts;

Cries echo mute and bellies run empty.

Then, as if from nowhere, a lantern shines;

The humble prophecy reveals its wares

And hearts, uplifted by its modest way,

Pray. Even if no one responds, we pray.

◄ Matchstick Dream

The Shortest Day ►

Comments

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Stephen Gospage

Wed 22nd Dec 2021 09:22

And thanks to John and Aisha for their likes.

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Stephen Gospage

Tue 21st Dec 2021 16:58

Thank you, Keith. I must admit that I hadn't based this on anything in particular, other than a general idea of the Christmas story. But, looking at it more carefully, I see what you mean. So I have to agree with you, although, as John (Coopey) says, other interpretations are possible. The main message is one of optimism and hope.

And many thanks to Rudyard, Stephen, Holden and Erika for liking this poem.

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John Coopey

Tue 21st Dec 2021 09:25

I suspect each of us will picture the context of this differently. Powerful ju-ju, Stephen.

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keith jeffries

Mon 20th Dec 2021 18:08

Stephen,
Thank you for this. For some inexplicable reason the prologue of John's gospel came to mind. This is what it's all about, is it not?
Keith

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