A Common Bachelor

This poem is heavily inspired by one of my favourite poems “The Village Blacksmith”. I loved the poem so much that I blatantly borrowed lines from it. You can listen to the original here: https://youtu.be/-XXz5InbG0Y

If all goes well someday I desire to write a follow-up to this “The family man”

On with the poem….

A Common Bachelor

-         Prajval Albuquerque

Under a split AC

⁠The Bachelor sits;

The Bachelor, a moderately built man is he,

With thin and lanky arms,

And the muscles of his brawny brain

Are strong as iron bands.

 

His hair is crisp, black, and short,

The chilled air and bright lights have faded his face’s natural tan,

The AC is chill but his brow is wet with honest sweat.

He earns whatever he can,

He looks the whole world in the face,

For all his, credit card bills are paid,

And he owes not any man.

 

Week in, week out, from morn till night,

You can hear his fingers type and the screen swipe;

Like a carpenter tapping his nails.

You can see him drain the corporate coffee,

During his break and time free.

 

The HR coming from Board Room

Looks in at the open door;

He loves to see the brightened screen,

And see the executed code soar.

 

He goes on Sunday to the church,

And sits among other bachelors;

He hears the priest pray and preach,

He hears his crush’s voice

Singing in the church choir,

And it makes his heart rejoice.

 

It sounds to him like his first love's voice

Singing in some other man’s arms!

And with his hard, rough hand he wipes,

A tear out of his eyes.

 

Toiling,—rejoicing,—sorrowing,

Onward through life he goes.

Each morning sees some assignment begin,

Each evening sees it close.

Something attempted, something done,

He sleeps peacefully,

Knowing well he has earned a night's repose.

 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,

 For the lesson thou hast taught!

Thus at the flaming forge of life

 Our fortunes must be wrought;

Thus on the worn out key board typed out, lived out,

Each burning deed and thought.

Can you love the Eucharist more than Saint Tarcisius did?

This beautiful word called “Love” called love can evoke so many emotions within us. So today as we end up celebrating our Republic Day. My heart was filled with love for my country, the marching contingents gave me a delight like no other, and now as Valentine's day draws closer “the “season of love” as the world says it. Spare a thought to focus on, how much the words “I love you” mean; are you willing to believe in what you love? What sacrifices are you willing to make for your love? Can you love God more than any man? With these thoughts in my mind, I share my article on Saint Tarcisius      

 

Can you love the Eucharist more than Saint Tarcisius did?

 “I will rather die than relinquish the eucharist”

- Saint Tarcisius.

How often we feel and express love to our parents, family, someone in whom we look up to as our future spouse, but how far would you go for that love? Perhaps we may give our life for our worldly love but what about our Lord. How often we say I will give my life for my faith, but deep down in our conscience we know how far we will go to protect our lord, and here we have a teenager whose conscience was as clear as his words; he sacrificed his life for the love of eucharist.

It is easy to love someone whom our eyes can see, whose voice our ears can hear, whose heartbeat we can feel when we hug them, it’s difficult to love someone more than our own lives. However, the purest and exemplary form of a love of which my fragile body cannot even conceive is to give my life for someone whose voice I will hear, whose heartbeat I will feel, whose presence I will see but only if I have “FAITH”

 In the early days of Christianity, before Emperor Constantine had adopted Christianity as the state religion, and before the Council of Nicaea had taken place. Early Christians throughout the Roman Empire faced severe torture and persecution.  It was in this era, when Emperor Valerian ruled over the Roman Empire Saint Tarcisius was born.

In those early times, Christians were thrown into dark and dirty prisons, from which they were only taken out in order to be Martyred. Christians were often beaten or burnt to death. At times they were thrown to lions or leopards in large open spaces surrounded by rows of seats, for the entertainment of Roman aristocracy and citizens. To protect themselves from Romans, the Christians dug deep underground chambers and made long tunnels between them. The openings to these chambers were made in lonely spots outside the city, and only the Christians knew about the entrance to these chambers.  These underground chambers were known as "catacombs," and Holy Mass was offered there, here the early Christians were instructed in the faith by the bishops and priests and received the holy communion.
But in spite of every attempt to maintain secrecy, the Romans sometimes found the entrance to these catacombs; the early Christians there were caught and put in dungeons or sentenced to death. A great many Christians had been captured and put in jails, every day in these dungeons our early brothers and sisters spent great hours praying and singing psalms as they awaited their certain death.

One day these captured children locked in prisons sent a message to the Bishop asking him to send them Holy Eucharist, for they knew that just as food nourishes our bodies, and Holy Eucharist nourishes our souls, and they believed that if they could only receive the body of our Lord, into their hearts so that they could be able to bear any pain or torture for the love of our Lord.

When this message reached the Bishop, he was in one of the catacombs ready to say a mass, he asked all present in the catacomb to pray that he might choose the best messenger to carry the Blessed Sacrament to the brothers and sisters languishing in prison. He could not send a priest to do this, and most of the other Christians were well known too.  because they would be at once seized and put in one of the many prisons. At the end of the Mass, the Bishop turned around again and asked who would be willing to risk his life to carry Holy Eucharist to the prisoners. A couple of men offered to carry out this perilous yet sacred task, but since they were grown-up men suspected of being Christians, the Bishop was afraid, they would be caught and put to death. Then a Twelve-year Tarcisius came up to the Bishop and kneeling at his feet begged to carry out the task of taking Our Lord in the Holy Eucharist to those who needed him the most.
He reasoned with the Bishop that, "I am so young, the guards  will think I am only a messenger boy, and let me pass."

Tarcisius may have been an orphan and was either an acolyte or an altar server. He was well known to all the Christians for his great love of the Holy Eucharist At first the Bishop thought he was too young, but Tarcisius pleaded so fervently to be allowed to carry the Eucharist that the Bishop at last and obliged to place our Lord to his care.

The Sacred Hosts were placed inside a white cloth within a little box which Tarcisius put inside his tunic, just over his heart, and then with his hands clasped over his Sacred hosts, he started off, with our Blessed Lord close to his heart! He did not spare a thought for the people and places that he passed by. His thoughts were focussed only on Jesus, whom he carried so close to his heart. Along the way, he whispered, "Oh, dear Jesus, how I love you,". "How much should I praise you to have chosen to be your little messenger. I would willingly suffer and die for you.  Whispering words of love like these he sped quickly on his way.

As he was walking along the Appian Way, he passed a group of his schoolmates, who were not Christians; asked him to join their games
Tarcisius politely refused. One of them seeing how tightly Tarcisius held his hands across his chest questioned him "What have you there? Another one ordered him to show what he was carrying. Tarcisius cried "No, no," struggling to free himself from their hands.
His anxiousness made them all the more curious, and together they tried to pull away from his hands.
Under his breath, Tarcisius began to whisper "Lord, strengthen me," But one of the boys  heard the words and cried out to the others: "He is a Christian and  is hiding some Christian mystery."
This made the boys even more curious. Determined to see for themselves what he was carrying, they began hitting him and kicking him, they did their best to pull away his hands, but they were unable to move his hands. The commotion attracted a mob of pagans and on realizing that Tarcisius was a Christian the mob’s fury knew no bounds and they began lynching him simultaneously trying to retrieve what was in his hands.

It is believed that a soldier named Fortunatus who also happened to be a Christian, stumbled upon the lynching scene and chased the crowd away

 He possibly recognized the Tarcisius from the catacombs and lifted his battered body, but the boy died from his injuries in the arms of Fortunatus as he was being carried away to the catacombs. He was buried in the cemetery of St. Callistus, where he was revered and venerated as a martyr.

Tarcisius is honored as the patron saints of altar boys and first communicants. He has always been an example of youthful courage and devotion to the holy eucharist.

St. Tarcisius Feast Day is usually forgotten as it falls on the feast of Assumption of Mary into heaven (August 15)

Prayer

Saint Tarcisius,

You who are the model of courage and faith,

Bless us and grant us your earthly brothers and sisters who humbly intercede before you;

The gifts of faith, courage and strength to embrace our sufferings and love our lord more

and more each day.

Teach us to love and honour our lord in the holy eucharist and may we always yearn to

receive him every day.

Be with us, guide us and keep us pure as we were on the day of our first holy communion.

Strengthen our resolve so that we may never receive the holy eucharist with the stain of

sin on our souls.

We make this prayer through our intercessor Saint Tarcisius to Christ our Lord,

Amen.

 

Written by: Prajval Albuquerque

If you like this article or find it burdensome to read it please watch this 2 minute clip on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A9q4KIFpnIw

Yes, love is hot chocolate ‼️

The sudden monsoon that Bengaluru is experiencing reminds me what a pleasure it is to enjoy the simple pleasures of life like a cup of Hot Chocolate (Blessed to have a friend who can make the best cuppa). So at 1 am. I go in the pursuit of writing about two of the best things that God bestowed upon man, Hot Chocolate and the gift to love. 

I hope you get to enjoy this poem with a nice warm Cup of Chocolicious milk. 

Yes, love is hot chocolate ‼️

 

Yes, love is hot chocolate ‼️

Something you cannot just guzzle, it will burn your inside from your heart to your soul.

But sip it slowly, and it will warm your heart,

Enjoy it as it sings a lullaby to the butterflies in your stomach

 

Yes, love is hot chocolate ‼️

It's bitter in the beginning, cowards will run away from it,

But if you stay, the sugar rush that follows will soothe;

That ache, that shiver,

Experienced when your hands first touched.

 

Yes, love is hot chocolate ‼️

It's dark, it's brown;

It looks like mud served in a cup.

But if you don't judge it and stay;

It's aroma will transport you to paradise.

 

Yes, love is hot chocolate ‼️

If you hold it in a fragile glass of ego, it will shatter you.

If you hold it in an iron fist of possessiveness, it will burn you,

But if you are flexible, yet strong like a cup of clay, it will stay,

And just like the aftertaste of a good cuppa, it will stay forever.

So, until love comes, let me enjoy that cup of hot chocolate 🍫☕

 

-      Prajval Albuquerque

On Teacher’s Day

 

To,

All my teachers who keep on appearing in every phase of my life 

 

Why should we restrict the definition of a teacher to our school teachers and college lecturers? I believe every person who comes into your life and leaves a footprint for you to complete your journey is a teacher.

On Teacher’s Day

To every healer, who healed me,

To every taskmaster, who peeled me,

To every hater, who killed a part 

within me,

and

To every admirer who praised me.

 

To every person;

Who gave me hope,

Who taught me with tragedy to cope,

Who left me broke,

And to those

Who extended my scope.

 

To every person;

Who taught me to rebel,

Who taught me to, ‘in people’s heart dwell’.

To the person who taught me to love,

And to the one

Who taught me to ‘love’ in a corner shove. 

 

To the person, who left in my heart a hole,

To the people who for me poured out their Soul,

To the people, who taught me the law of life,

And

To them as well who taught me to live the life of law.

 

So on this auspicious day

I take the privilege of thanking all those angels in the form of teachers who passed by me and left their footprints on my Heart for time Immemorial.

                                                                                                     - Prajval Albuquerque

HAPPY TEACHERS DAY TO ALL THOSE PEOPLE WHO HAVE BEEN A PART OF MY JOURNEY. 

[Originally published in my E-book " Beyond Black & White" 

https://www.amazon.in/Beyond-Black-White-Collection-articles-ebook/dp/B08KPLNN6B/ref=sr_1_4?dchild=1&keywords=beyond+black+and+white+book&qid=1630813352&sr=8-4]

Oh, sweet Lily at Saint Joseph's feet.

It all started with a small miracle of my own....

    "On May 27th, 2021, I was praying before the Saint Josef statue you see in the image at the Divine Mercy Garden. This was when I saw a lady trying to lift a white Lily from the pit and place it back near the statue, apparently her offering had fallen in the pit because of the wind. Since I was a bit taller I lifted and placed the white Lily vertically at the feet of the statute.

    On May 28th, when I returned to the Statute despite a windy night and the thin stem, the flower had not changed its position. At the same time the lady I had met the previous day saw the same, and said a small blessing over me. I could not be happier"  [The image was clicked on May 28th]

    On May 29th evening; I was on terrace discerning about my future, and this one image constantly kept coming in my mind. I began to wonder what it meant to my life? What was it trying to tell me? From what I understood at that moment, I wrote this poem.

                                                    Oh, sweet Lily at Saint Joseph's feet.

 

You who are purest white,

You who are the brightest light in the darkest night,

Oh, sweet Lily at Saint Joseph's feet.

 

You who are veiled in grace,

You never failed to dance gracefully with every stroke of breeze,

Oh, sweet Lily at Saint Joseph's feet.

 

Bowing your head, inclining your heart towards him,

Yet with your fragrance you draw everyone close to him.

Oh, sweet Lily at Saint Joseph's feet.

-          Prajval Albuquerque

  

It is here that I dwell.

Yesterday I got a call from a dear friend asking for legal advice; as is normally the case you have to take a call on asking him to do the right thing or advise him on acting in a way so that he gets his Right. In 99% of cases, both of these things are never the same. After this advisory, I was drained. I began to wonder what would Purgatory be like? or even worse is Earth a reflection of Purgatory? Where we are daily taught to live with the consequences of our choices.

It is from this thought that I was guided to write the poem.

It is here that I dwell.

 

Between the Utopia,

&

Between the Dystopia,

There is a land.

 

There is a land where:

  

Where men and beast are judged by the same law,

Where love and law are intertwined,

Yet, the law of love prevails over all.

 

Where, between the Black

&

Between the White,

There no difference lay,

Coz the colour of choice there is Grey

 

Where between Love

&

Between Hate,

Altogether there is a different mental state.

 

Where between Morality,

&

Between Justice,

The choices are already made.

 

Where between Winning,

&

Between Loosing,

There is no difference.

 

Where Actions,

&

Consequences, 

 Are judged on the same scale,

Yet, no permanent judgment made.

Where Fire,

&

Water,

Are in plenty,

Yet, both are in need.

It is in this land between Heaven and Hell that I dwell.

 

-         Prajval Albuquerque

True Love

    

 

To,

All the little ones without whose hugs I would have never experienced what true love was. 

If you feel that have not yet found true love, then perhaps you have been looking in all the wrong places, he may be just outside your gate pedalling on his tri cycle  

True Love

There were days when we walked,

Those lonely roads, we talked,

And the world together we trolled.

 

As we held hands,

I forgot all my pangs,

My daily sorrows,      

My daily woes,

It was as if I had touched Jannat*,

Something that should have never been touched,

Only worthy of ibadat. **

 

 As those dark strands of hair,

Rested on my shoulder,

There used to appear on my face a smile so rare,

I guess God indeed for me especially did care.

 

Then there were her hmmms,

My zubaan*** said nothing,

But my heart went hmmm.

It was as if my life was going as smoothly as that hmmm.

 

Then her those dark eyes,

Dark as the darkest kohl,

I let them peep in my heart’s crevices

Where back then was a heart but today lay a hole,

You were my world whole.

 

Her sarcasm, those stings,

Those were some of my precious things,

Uff!!! Those memories, those pictures,

You changed, but they refuse to change.

 

Then I wondered,

Is this true love? Is this true love!!

If this is true love, no more shall I love,

I SHALL LOVE NO MORE.

 

As I walked across the street one evening,

I came across an angel,

I guess this was a new beginning,

She was a lady fair,

Her golden curls,

May have dulled the glory of many British earls.

She made a funny face,

As if it was some kind of race,

I made an even funnier face,

And as the world watched,

As the world laughed.

The two-foot something ran in my embrace,

As I lifted her up,

She called me Dada***

And on my forehead did she kiss,

As she high fived me,

That moment I knew what true love was.

  

Jannat*: Urdu word for heaven

Ibadat**: Urdu word for worship

Zubaan***: Urdu word for Tongue

Dada****: Marathi word for elder brother.

                                                                                                     -Published originally in the ebook:

Beyond Black & White: Collection of poems, articles, and short stories to which everyone out there can relate to