Usha Kishore

“It’s Christmas,” the reverend sister had said,

“When Jesus Christ was born.”

And a wide-eyed Hindu girl had dreamed of:

Somewhere in a manger, angels singing;

Three kings, frankincense and myrrh;

A lone star rising; lambs bleating from

here and there; a donkey quietly watching -

Some shepherds kneeling down; a woman in

blue and one chuckling baby…

Now I look back and see you clothed in the

sun, moon and stars – What shall I call you?

Shall I call you Jesus? Shall I call you Krishna ?

Whatever I call you, I know – You are the

One who holds my hand, when I am lost;

You are the One who chuckles golden light

into my dreams; You are the One who scents

my thoughts with frankincense and myrrh;

You are the One who keeps me smiling

through my tears…