CRADLE OF CHRIST

I ponder upon the alabaster porcelain babe
Sleeping, still, as a virgin mother stares unblinkedly in adoration,
Kings and shepherds, alike, frozen
In wonder and worship to His purity,
As ox and mule figurines look on,
Forever in unchanged curiosity,

And I contemplate Gabriel’s message,
One, two thousand years ago;
Imagine the melodies harnessed by the choir of angels;
I think about that radiant star; such splendor hung in the night sky,
Guiding Kings and shepherds, alike, to the lowly stable-
Baby Jesus, the divine misfit, slept peacefully in his humble cradle.

Copyright © 2009 by Mariella Rivas

ANGEL

The angel took a wingless form,
With her halo round her heart;
The angel held my life in her palms,
Crafting from my shapelessness since the start...

I saw the angel at diligent work
To sustain my own joy and comfort,
And I saw the angel discover her joy in this very work.
The angel taught me the art of Self-sacrifice,
In the name of Love.

I felt the angel press her lips
Against my undeserving skin,
Radiating warmth, offering a haven; protection.
The angel showed me the beauty of having strength for others,
In the name of Love.

I heard the angel whisper a prayer
For the sake of my success,
And I knew the angel felt her own achievement
Through my success;
So, the angel imparted unto me the power of Faith;
The power of Love...

The angel reached for my empty hands,
But filled my soul instead.
The angel looked into my weary eyes,
Yet, right through my soul she stared.
The angel became my hero forever,
Embedded in her simplicity,
And I gave this angel an identity-
I called my angel
Mother.


Copyright © 2009 by Mariella Rivas

GOING BEYOND

Ma would always tell me
’Bout when her grandpapa was young,
’Bout how he was hauled over the horizon
Into the twilight;
Into the treacherous depths of trials and misery,
Like a seedling dug out of the fertile ground,
Or an embryo snatched from the womb,
Forcefully.

Ma would always proclaim with reverence
That Great Grandpapa was shackled,
Sailing foreign waters for months galore,
And only ’cause of his endurance,
He put his African foot on foreign shore,
Set his African eyes on foreign sunrise,
Expectantly.

Ma would always preach with pride
How her grandpapa slaved for countless years
On the white man’s plantation;
How he sacrificed both blood and tears
As oft as he was beaten;
And Ma would also impale me with
Talk ’bout how African veins stretched with relief
On the eve of emancipation;
How, after prolonged eons of gloom and grief,
Liberty was coming with the golden, now-familiar sunrise,
And Great Grandpapa was,
Eagerly,
Going beyond with the breaking dawn
To restart life…

Going beyond,
To restart as that seedling, blossoming
Out of the soils of patience;
Going beyond,
To restart as that unfinished embryo,
And be reincarnated,
Out of the womb of diligence.

Copyright © 2009 by Mariella Rivas