Christmas without Lights: A Poem | Thursday Verse No. 17

  What is Christmas to you? 

  To some, it is a season of celebration; to others, a festival in a distant land. For many, it is the glitter of lights, the joy of presents, and the music of gatherings. And for some, Christmas is also the waiting and the hope, the quiet attention we give and receive, the small, often unnoticed reflections that linger in between. Perhaps it is all of these at once.

  Christmas without Lights captures the stillness, where the true meaning of the season quietly resides.

Christmas without Lights

Photograph by Perati Wattanawikkarn on Pexels.

The nook by the fireplace awaits the pine tree’s sight,

The winter night lingers, seeking for the warm string lights, 

Ornaments and tinsels long to be retrieved from the storeroom,

The candles on the mantle piece hope to be lit out of the gloom, 

The carpet in the hutch wishes to warm the freezing floor,

Pinecones and mistletoes long to be let in through the door, 

The mugs on the cabinet crave to held by the fuzzy mittens,

Little Mr. Elf bides his time, hiding behind the maroon curtains,

The soaking fruits wait to be mixed with eggs, sugar, flour, and butter,

And the cooling dough, resting in the fridge, watches for the cookie cutter,

The oven stays waiting for the command to toast, roast, and bake,

The dog on the patio craves to catch a whiff of the unprepared spiced-cake,

The presents on the list long to be bought home,

Postcards lay await to be kissed with snuggly poems,

The unwritten letters wait to be mailed, 

The expanding silence wishes to be curtailed,

The roof above waits to be suffused by the season’s aroma,

The walls of the densely silent house ponder the hovering enigma.

The church bell resounds three gongs,

The merry folks and foes prance along, 

The gown in the dresser waits to embrace the mistress, 

Who sits by the window, cozily watching the vast expanse,

Merrily humming a hymn, without intending to move,

Except to warm a meal for the freezing child by the edge of the road,

and to paint soft drizzles of joy, peace, and love on silent nights like these all year long.

- Mercy Rebonica