I found the Infant, sacred, the heavenly grace,
In the virgin’s lap, in manger, the face,
Blazing amidst the angels, the shepherds,
Who sing the praise, the glory with herds.
I found the Infant in that hut,
Dilapidated, broken, shattered which cut
Down in pain their defeated life,
In vulnerable, savage, outpouring grief.
I found the Infant in the faces sweat,
Of the tillers, in their troubled eyes wet;
And in the pale lips of the path maker,
Who toil in the sun, in the rain, in the courner;
In the maid wearing cloaks all torn,
In the eyes of the unknown kids who born
Orphans, passing the merciless
dawn;
In the patients shivering in death bed who mourn,
Disappointed, wretched, in the isolated ward
Aside dark corridors no one to guard;
In the voice, trembling, of the helpless crowd,
The prey of terrorists, amidst blasts aloud,
In the depth of desperate sunken eye,
In all the flesh and blood who weep and sigh;
And in the hands weary, the shelterless beggars,
I found Him, in their life struggles.
Never found Him, the Holy Infant,
Though I searched in palace in front-
Of luxury, in mansions of richness;
In the faces fat, in cheeks of happiness;
In the lips crimson with poisonous blood;
In the tongues of spears and sharpened sword;
Which stretch to utter just flattery pomp,
And explode to mangle with words of bomb.
Neither in the altars of temples or church,
Where only battles of powers do march,
Nor in the kingdoms of world, in the siege;
Nor in the artillery from where no refuge;
Nor in the hearts proud, so jealous,
Storming towards the humble, the gentle, the pious;
Nowhere in the flashes of gunfire sound
The grace, the glorious face never I found.
I found Him, the humility, in every manger simple,
In all the hearts humane, ardent and humble,
In the virgin’s lap, joyfully with heavenly grace,
Showering the blessings of eternal peace,
To send the rich away, their hands empty,
To bring down the kings, strong and mighty,
To fill the hungry well, to lift up the lowly,
Smiling the Infant in the manger lovely!!
