Flute and the Cross

Descends amidst the catastrophe
Prefers the straw over thrones
Tends the grazing cattle
Frolics that “dark-skinned”
With the street urchins
Aiming stones at the earthen pots
“Trades of milk”; he aptly defies
First feed the kids in the countryside
Heals the wounds with peacock feather
Melts over pounded rice of the poor
Colours all in tunes of oneness
Of his serene flute

Arrives again at the midnight hour
Trails tracked by the pole star
Wrapped now, in a robe of love
Walks between familiar flock,
Who know he is “the king of kings”
Preaches the benevolence
Then on the cross he smiles
Praying to forgive the sinners
Assuring his humble acquaintances
That crowd of cowherds
And this horde of shepherds
To resurrect their faith with affection

© Juhi Gupte