At this time of the year, dust rises like raptured souls,
dogs barking in their cages at an unseen silhouette.
And like the ancient Israeli prophets,
my preacher dad is preparing a message
inspirations flapping like fluffy doves inside his greying head.
The streets are noisy, buses are so loud you will think
everyone is hurrying off to a feast in heaven.
Children sing Christmas rhymes like some old persecuted Apostles
in some forgotten jailhouse. And I wonder how many rhymes
Mary knew or hummed?
Soon some men who pass as wise will walk into a local church
bearing gifts we know aren’t myrrh, gold, and frankincense,
and bow to a baby we know isn’t Jesus or Christ.
But we know this is true – A King, a God, was born today. Jesus.
And there is joy in the world because He came.
The street is littered with wraps from old gift shops,
the city lights flicker like beacons
on a tempest sea for stray souls to follow.
And everyone is needing something: A gift, a miracle,
a prayer, a call, a hug, money…
Somewhere in this ghetto, the destitute will whisper
joy to the world. Again. And again. And again. And again.
