Indian Summer – Roann Mendriq

A neon sun, in furnace sky, 

Fiercely brilliant, harshly stark; 

Blazing whitehot, burning high, 

Sweltering sultry, stubbon spark. 
Grasses wilt beneath the glare, 

withering with one fiery glance; 

Defying wildflowers, with a dare, 

to start their annual summer dance. 
Heat saps the earth with gasping breath, 

along the dried and dusty path; 

Where thirsty sparrows cheating death, 

revell in a dry mud-bath. 
Scorching waves with no respite, 

Beware an Indian Summer’s smite. 

India: Land Divine – Roann Mendriq

A land of beauty, land divine, 

All the world’s beloved shrine; 

Wisdom from beyond the ages, 

Ruled by Kings and holy sages.
Soaked in sun’s resplendent rays, 

Chanting bhajans (hymns of praise): 

Washed by monsoons; fresh and pure, 

Cleanst by healings’ mystic cure.
Land of Lions, Kings of beasts, 

dining on Ma nature’s feasts; 

Land of verdant speaking trees, 

Steeped in yogic mysteries.
Land conquered and divided still, 

All according to one’s fickle will; 

Land of the poorest of the poor, 

But rich with treasured souls aglow.
Land of golden deserts wide, 

Dazzling with heritage pride; 

Land of gardens; fragrant teas, 

Land of oceans and silver seas.
Backwaters of the lush, green south, 

feeding from the river’s mouth; 

Crowned with mountains at the north, 

whence holy rivers doth springforth.
Blessed India, God’s own land, 

handcrafted by His holy hand. 

 The Truth About Santa -Roann Mendriq

T’was days before Christmas, the world was a mess; 

Children were doubting, (mine too, must confess!) 

They wanted to know now, how Santa could be; 

all over the world, in one night, you see? 
So, I sat mine down gently – it seemed the right time, 

to tell him the truth, with reason…and rhyme! 

Of course, Santa is real! He did live long ago, 

But not like you know him, to him there was more.. 
He was an old, holy priest, in a sleepy old town, 

Who smiled with his eyes, and never did frown; 

He was called Nicholas and was named a saint, 

because of his kindness, which had no restraint. 
He didn’t fly through the sky, wearing bright red, 

with black shiny boots, and a bell on his head! 

He didn’t have reindeer, pulling his sleigh, 

He carried his presents, the old fashioned way! 
Not as plump as a pudding, he was poor as could be; 

But he loved giving gifts, he gave them happily. 

He gave them in secret, not with a great noise; 

He gave them with care, to good girls and boys. 
Stockings and boots, were kept at the doors, 

Good Nicholas filled them, with God only knows! 

Coins for hot dinners, and cakes for the small ones, 

Warm dresses for daughters, warm cloaks for the sons!
Now, you tell me children, you make the choice, 

Who is Santa Claus? Tell me with one voice! 

Is it that plump, jolly fellow, who goes “HO, HO, HO! ” 

Who delivers x-boxes, right at the front door? 
Or is it that ancient old priest, who was holy and wise, 

Who helped all the poor, with love in his eyes? 

Who might’ve been thin, and wore tattered clothes, 

Who is the Saint here, whom do you suppose? 
And children know truth, when told from the heart, 

For they are truth-tellers, right from the start! 

They smiled with pure wonder, they laughed with pure bliss, 

They were right all along! Santa was St.Nicholas! 
He wasn’t a myth, a fable, a lie, 

A story that grown-ups, dislike to deny! 

He is as real as you, and as you! and as me! 

Celebrating the ChristChild for all eternity! 
For the true gifts of Christmas, don’t ever break, 

They never cause tears, nor any heartache; 

They are Good-will and Love, and true Peace and Joy 

St.Nicholas brings them, for the small Birthday-boy!