Silent night, creeps in the dark plains
As the fire brings the kith and kin closer
The little ones gather round the experienced
With joy and expectations….
…but there is nothing to share
The pots are empty as the dark sky above.

The merry that made Christmas is no more,
Only the ‘able’ still see the sense
And long to bond,
Enjoying their hard-earned sweat,
Of pulling the weak down

The young and feeble live in tented camps
As beggars with empty pots to scoop
And gyrating wet eyes,
Cursing the heavens
For their unplanned predicament.

Suppose He were to be born today
Wouldn’t He weep?
Looking at the depleted environment, carefree society
Languishing children and widows
And yes, irreligious world,
Worshiping money, like the Biblical Pharisees
And wish to go back to HIS Father… saddened!

© mburu kamau