"I am coming, accept me and my offering"

His feet are beautiful who walks barefoot;

and not the one who walks with shoes.

His hands are beautiful who mucks in mire;

and not the one who counts the qwerty keys.

His lips are beautiful who sings the song of lament;

and not the one who sings the song of vengeance.

His eyes are beautiful who is blurred by the blurry world;

and not the one who shines with glittering eyebrows.

His back is beautiful who is bruised with marks of scourges;

and not the one who brushed in the gym.

His heart is beautiful patched by scars of thorns and marks of lance;

and not the one who wraps in the coat of gold.

It ain't a fashion parade, nor a fuller's museum.

It ain't a bundle of joys, nor a trap for prey.

It's he who tills the land, feeds the hungry.

It is he who walks miles and miles with feet uncovered. 

It is he who feeds the multitude with a grain of seed.

It is he who is bruised and broken with lashes out.

It is he who is lynched for your glory and pride;

murdered and killed for your whims and fancy.

Where's my freedom and my will?

Am I your servant to wash your dirty linen?

Am I a burden to you and all?

Have I no dignity, right, equality and sovereignty?

If not here, should I be there in the nether world?

Questions, Questions, Questions a thousands

and none to answer.

Let me be silent now, drink my tears and eat my spittle;

For I am happy in my mother's lap.

Let me look up to the sky and say, 

"I am coming, accept me and my offering."

Fr. Raju Felix Crasta