Dear Jesus

By Anisha Gupta

https://youtu.be/rJt8Aqjw7yk

Jesus, Oh Jesus!

This time of toil and turmoil,

Makes our bellies sick.

My wife droops every day,

And rubs her sins away like dead skin,

With tears of lowliness mixed with the dirt;

On her face.

She throws herself to the altar

There, where your feet stand.

Our hopes scratch our backs,

But dare it shows itself in our face.

The sole of the black boots,

Are worn out as our hearts.

No, we do not seek

All jewels and royal bugles,

Being played at our anniversaries.

We implore you to grant;

A scion to this family.

My Christmas is spent,

All out in the freeze.

Every new twelve months,

My wife weeps at your altar;

With bruised knees.

I'm not tired,

Of being wrapped in red suits

With cloud-like puffed beards;

Being yanked by tots n tiny.

This is a side kick

I do annually,

To see chirpy faces

I'm not able to see back at home.

When in a nearly out of sight corner,

Down the Abchurch lane.

Was a bench Camouflaged in the grass.

The place of magical faith.

The outie son with his neck springed down,

Sat there with moonlight on his face.

And I saw a form of Jesus

Lifted above his head.

And Suddenly I knew, the time has come.

For God to have mercy on our life,

That day at 12,

As the Christmas carols played

And sleigh bells rang.

Our hearts oozed out gold shine,

For we had received the blessings;

Of a son, shine on our lives.

By Anisha Gupta