Walter W. Safar
The Boy With The Sunny Smile - Poem by Walter W. Safar
When the winds die down in the shadow of the small town church
To rest their restless screaming spirit
In the arms of melodious bars of the angelic music of „Holy Night".
Then, the whirlwind of wonderful feelings pervades everything,
To disarm sorrow;
My imagination - the balsam of the poet's feather
As the crossroads of many dreams,
Where all hopes stray through the thick forests of temptation,
Offering itself to the feather,
Like the testament of a dreamer of magic dreams,
For the soul's light to find its home.
In the shadow of a gloomy building,
In a street with an ugly and dark exterior -
Which is devoid of sun and human warmth most of the day -
The boy with the sunny smile, the child of a grim orphanage,
The stranger from our neighborhood, who walked all the dark streets,
Still treaded tireless along his path of dreams spreading his smile,
As if declared to be the light bearer by capricious faith.
From the shadow of his small lonely home
He looks at an old lady looking for plastic bottles through garbage,
Leaning on a cane which is crooked as if squeezed by poverty.
While others act if she doesn't exist,
The boy with the sunny smile gives her all he has - his smile,
So that the poor old lady can keep her Christmas,
Because dignity is the best Christmas present for someone in need;
The boy with the sunny smile
Has proven that his smile is alight
Like the star atop the Christmas tree;
Where all dreams have open doors,
Where the path of dreams leads to a wonderland beyond the rainbow
Where love humbly serves its magnificent purpose
To shine eternally like a divine temple open for everyone around the world,
For the young and old, wealthy and poor alike.
While others hang on to the sleeves of the cold system,
The boy with the sunny smile runs through the thick forest of temptation
As if his smile is his compass,
And his kind soul a light.
Where the darkness of the cold system descends, it's colder than a grave.
I would hate myself if I wouldn't admit
That I held on to the system too, like a gravedigger to his shovel.
Where everything has a price, you won't see the boy with the sunny smile,
You won't hear the sweet song of angelic harps,
You won't feel the caress of those verses
As a love message of the snowflake of your heart,
Because all the soul has to offer as a gift
Can only be found outside the time of profit calculations.
Afraid of being lost in that thick forest of temptation,
I told myself: „Look into the eyes of poverty fearlessly -
Just like the boy with the sunny smile looks into the eyes of capricious faith."
Where poverty weaves a spider's web around butterflies,
A young mother with a baby in her arms is begging.
Looking into the eyes of the mother, then the baby's, I thought
What did this little baby, only at the beginning of its path of dreams,
Do to deserve the freezing cold in the arms of its hapless mother?
And of course, I took out a wrinkled banknote,
But before it reached the mother's hands,
The baby's trembling little hand reached out for it,
Probably thinking it was a toy
Instead of a piece of paper over which wars are waged,
And all the possible and impossible immoral political soul trades...
And that fragile child still squeezes the wrinkled banknote,
Still thinking it's a toy from which it cannot be removed
Even by the merciless hand of fate.
Walking through the thick forest of temptation, I think:
„While many a child shall enjoy
Unpacking the nicely wrapped Christmas gifts,
This little creature shall be freezing in dark cold street somewhere,
Squeezing the small dirty banknote as a Christmas gift,
If merciless fate doesn't grab it from its fragile hand sooner."
Where many Christmas trees shine inside warm homes,
Many presents will bring smiles to the faces of children,
But over there, in the sad abandoned street,
Only the mother's tears are shining.
That cold unwelcoming street -
Which has never been home to a butterfly in its whole existence -
Was like some kind of greedy spider,
Weaving its web to catch the unwary.
There, in the cold system's embrace,
Where poverty is jealously hiding the young mother and baby
From the eyes of the world,
You will find the boy with the sunny smile;
His persistent sunny smile is
The best Christmas gift by its own virtue;
His heavenly turquoise eyes, like crown glass -
From the magic works of an optical prism -
Are throwing magnificent pulsing rainbow colors
All around the hungry mother and baby
Like colorful toys from a rainbow display.
The more tears,
The more rainbow colors there are -
And the mother's fate bathes in spraying waterfalls of tears daily.
If everyone would be like the boy with the sunny smile,
There would be less hunger, greed, dictators and wars in the world.
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