Merry Christmas to everybody!

All of us who are enjoying the comfort of our warm homes - let us not forget our brothers and sisters. To many, they are invisible in those small dark streets. Even when we see them in the street, we pass right by as if they do not exist. If we took a careful look of their teary eyes, we would heart the same scream we hear within ourselves when we are alone and abandoned. Let us reach out to them, because they are our angels who encourage us to perform good deeds.

 

THE STATIONERY BOY
By Walter Willaim Safar
In the shadow of a murky building, in a street with an ugly appearance
and an unpleasant smell, without sun and without human warmth
for most of the day, a boy and a dog tend after their only
legal craft assigned to them by the world: survival.
The boy and the dog are not just one body and one soul,
but they are also, as the world believes, one voice.
This voice, which seems to be heard only on Christmas Eve,
comes from a shrill ghost which lies restless in its grave;
in that sad street, which never housed a single butterfly
in its whole existence, there was some kind of greedy
spider, that spun its web to prey on careless people.
Yet, the boy and the dog await each new day with humble
and reverent obedience, and they sell paper: regular, fine
concept, white, whitish-brown, golden-blue; stamps,
sprinkling sand, nails, pencils, red and green ribbons
for gift wrapping; old notebooks, calendars,
diaries. To cut a long story short, the boy and his dog
trade in good old values. They are invisible to the courts,
because, after all, who cares for the poor, as the wise would say.
This morning, however, the boy and his dog were not in their
usual place, the golden sundust floated on the soft, sweet back
of the wind, as if looking for the stationer boy and his dog.
And the boy was lamenting the death of his old dog, in the shadow,
as usual, far away from the eyes of the world, and these salty, silent
tears were looking for at least one short gaze of the world,
but the cold world considers the boy to be just a regular, modest,
humble, honorable, and thus invisible stationer.
He kneels next to his only friend, and with a broken voice
he bids him farewell for one last time:
"Good night, my only friend! Good night, my little
stationer! Sweet and blissful dreams! "
And so the stationer boy was once again left alone in that sad street.

 

The Coat: A Story of Charity

 

"Oh Mio Babbino Caro"

 

Dear brothers and sisters,
During these sacred holidays, when we are celebrating the birth of the Son of God, people become closer to each other, as if mankind is wrapped in some invisible miracle . If that magic thread of compassion and love linked us every day of the year, there would be less hunger and wars around the world. Perchance it is wealth and power that blinds so many people, but eventually everyone, even those who are blinded by wealth and power, no later than on their deathbed, feels that the greatest wealth is hidden inside the human hearts. Those who lost their loved ones, and those whom loneliness threw into the dark wild river of depression, and those dreamers who eternally wander the road of dreams in search of a better world, those who become better humans by way of faith, those who are thrown into the jaws of despair by poverty, and those whom bad fate brought to the bridge to throw their lives into the dark wild river, and those who are luckless in love, and those from whom death took away love, and those who lost love in a feverish race after money and power, and those visionaries whom justice incites into an eternal fight for the good, and those who are eternally young at soul, and all those poor and wealthy people who yearn for love like a desert flower yearns for a drop of rain, in a moment of weakness looking up high in the hope that they might hear the angel's voice.

The Boy With The Sunny Smile

 by Walter William 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.

O Mio Babbino Caro

The Lord created man and nature from the same spirit. When nature suffers, so does man, because there is no life without nature. Life is wisely and brotherly teaching us that no amount of money can buy love. Yes, life is also mercifully teaching us that loving oneself isn't true love, because life is giving, not taking. When you feel someone else's Tear on a Christmas tree as if it was your own, then you have passed the test of humanity. By helping those in need we help ourselves, we become better human beings. Doing good is a wonderful feeling for the soul. The creator gave us the gift of emotion. The soul is a sacred sanctuary to human emotions. Love is one of the most noble human emotions. When we reach out to those in need, we don't just pick them up, we also pick ourselves up. In the end, every human being is in need of something. Each and every one of us, poor or wealthy, healthy or ill, is yearning for compassion and love. No one is immune to suffering. Yes, all we need is the strength to look into the eyes of suffering, because being insensitive to the suffering of others is to be unworthy of one's own suffering.
Dear people, may love accompany each and every moment of your lives. I wish you a merry Christmas.

 

Walter William Safar

Merry Christmas