I know what you did last Christmas

 
In a snowy Romanian village, during Christmas cheer,
my Babuska spun tales, both delightful and queer.
The tradition was sarmale, a savory delight,

Cabbage wrapped treasures, cooked all through the night.
Meat and rice nestled in leaves so green,
simmered in tomato, a feast so serene.

But woven in laughter and holiday charms
were Babuska’s stories with their quirky alarms:

"Behave well, dear children, lest you wish to be seen
in the pot with the sarmale, simmering and lean."
The children would giggle, eyes wide with surprise,
imagining their mischief leading to such a guise.

Babuska spoke of laughter, of stories old and grand,
of neighbors coming together, a united band.
In the coziness of kitchens, where joy would expand,
the taste of sarmale, a celebration so planned.

Yet beneath her stern warnings, there was love in disguise,
a way to teach kindness, through her playful eyes.

As sarmale bubbled, and the air filled with spice,
the village embraced Christmas with warmth so nice.
And though her words carried a humorous bite,
they guided young hearts through the wintery night.

In Babuska's village, traditions held tight,
with sarmale and stories, Christmas shone bright.
The village would sparkle, under the moon's light.

Children's eyes gleaming, with sheer delight.
Babuska's voice would soften, as she reminisced
of Christmases past, the loved ones missed.

But the sarmale remained, each bite a sweet twist.
A legacy of flavors in every savory kiss.

So Rudolph ran through Christmas snow            
nostril's flared, foam flecked, nose aglow,            
frantic clangs from his cracked brass bells            
spooked by oaths, blows, jeers, kicks and yells,           
of indignant brat's harsh bellows.            
            
" Don't want dolls, trains, but, gun ammo!          
an' guns, Glock'n Colt, duh!, Dumbo! "            
The deranged mob chased him pell-mell            
so, Rudolph ran...            
             
"It's kill or be killed, you Dodo! "          
they screamed, debased by gun agro,            
trapped in drug and gun seller's hells           
he heard shots toll peace's death knell            
no appeal, full of dreadful woe,            
so, Rudolph ran...

There are no silent holy nights  
the songs of xmas ring out false,  
just rattling tills at shopping sites  
there are no silent, holy nights.  
Traffic noise reaches dreadful heights  
from shopping site to shopping mall,  
there are no silent holy nights  
the songs of xmas, ring out false.  
   
The Minster choir sings xmas hymns  
ringing this dead stone hollow hall,  
raising voices in praise of him  
the Minster choir sings xmas hymns.  
The congregation moved to sing  
but I utter sweet bugger all,  
the Minster choir sings xmas hymns  
ringing this dead stone hollow hall.  
   
When my parents were above ground  
magic bells rang in Christmas nights,  
Carol singer's sang joyful sounds  
when my parents were above ground.  
Untill that silent night crashed down  
and crushed the fairies and their lights,  
when my parents were still around  
magic bells rang in Christmas nights.

      “There are things of this world that not even Santa can eliminate
That he had to sentence to a different fate,
      “No matter how evil the creature, or item it still breaks his heart
To confine whatever it is eternally to the dark,  

      “The prison is removed from space and time within drifted snow
Which is a maze of the first winter confusing those on where to go,
      “The key resides within a random child no older than the age of eight
Whose happiness and innocents unknowingly prevents a prisoners escape,

    “Each is locked away in their own personal cell
Forever denied heaven and too good for Hell,
      “Feed milk and cookies poisoned with all that is good and right
Once eaten it causes nightmares of lost joy that is hard to fight,

      “Death is not an option since The Drifted Snow is existence eternal
Containing unique prisoners whose reality is an appetite for murder,  
“There is the Eater of Children that do not consume the young by mouth
But feed off their dreams, leaving them brain dead and hollowed out,

      “The abomination known as the First Holiday
A future anomaly that can wish all entertainment of the world permanently away,
“Prisoner A.H. who’s rhetoric threatened nations worldwide
That was instrumental in a failed genocide,

      “A God known as The Orphan of They who lives in scorn
That is continuously murdered by the life of humanity and painfully reborn,
      “Sgt. Lee Cook a solider transformed into a being of energy and war in Vietnam
Becoming the only living known component of today’s nuclear bomb,       

      “Other beings and items imprisoned like The Rainbow Library and Evil Rudolph
Are twisted things that Santa considers forever an unforgivable lost,
      “Guarded by demi-god elves not only divine but considered insane
Psychotic fanatics against evil who execute punishment without shame,

      “Everyone imprisoned, redemption and hope is lost like freedom
Even for those drawing breath-air is sometimes a privilege from the lung,
      “The Drifted Snow is a dark secret created by Santa with regret
An undesirable home of the greatest threats to humanity evil will never forget”.

      “December 24th. Across the world gifts are given to the good
From the privileged rich to those living dirt poor in neighborhoods,
      “Upon all the major continents and places forbidden, seen and unseen
Bringing joy to loved ones, creating smiles and making children’s eyes gleam,

      “On line shopping is bleeding the Christmas magic by small amounts
That has the Empire of Christmas worried about being completely drained out,
      “But systems are in place to protect goodness, and Christmas at all cost
Before a unique and ancient tradition is completely lost,  

      “Unknowingly, while deliveries are made Santa releases a secret treat
Merging with the world’s weather that is infectious to evil and the sadistic weak,
      “Santa’s sleigh ride gives a twisted meaning of the word slay
Activating immediately after the end of the Christmas day,

      “Worldwide a red transparent colored storm forms and spread
Magically affecting true evil in different ways until they are dead,
      “Some brains become hard like Peppermint and begin to break
While others hearts freeze solid and instantly melt like a snowflake,

      “Those who are the sickest and the worst of mankind
Die from an incurable ravaging cancer and become blind,
      “Foul pastors who maliciously twist the word when they preach
Their tongue become a flesh eating parasite whenever they speak,

      “Even in death their evil souls do not transcend to the afterlife
But towards a greater cause that fuels Christmas and for all that is right,  
      “Northward the evil soul travels, being absorbed by candy-shaped domes
Transformed into magical energy that powers the belief in Christmas all year long,

      “A final purpose for the evil soul before it is forever destroyed
As annihilated dust that drifts endlessly throughout the dark void,
      “This is only a continuing ending cycle that never sleeps
Which causes Santa at times to uncontrollably weep,

      “Santa knows this deed he does is a form of evil within itself
That is why every year he ceremonially purge himself,
      “On New Year’s day after Christmas Misses Clause ritually sacrifice his life
Only to be reborn as the Christmas champion to fight for what’s right”.  

The spirit of each Day
wakes one Morning
having slept the best part of a Year.

And the Morning is the same for each of them -
so much to do, having done so little,
and all in a few hours.

But for Christmas it’s different.
For Christmas it comes hard.

The other days are merely birthdays or anniversaries,
a holiday here and there.
There may be more important times of the year
but for Christmas we are always counting down.

But Christmas finds it easy because Christmas doesn’t care.
And all the other Days are rooting for him, knowing it isn’t fair.

He sees himself that Morning
through the tiny drops of water
that would make a ghost of him.

He wipes the glass
and smiles
and doesn’t bother to shave.

Because Christmas doesn’t care
lending him an air of generosity.

Because he knows that none of this Day matters
and when he’s done he can get back

to stopping by sleepers in deserted doorways;
to covering with white gauze an open wound;
to sitting at bedsides pushing silver hairs away from tired eyes;
to boiling kettles and listening for cries:

A stranger, a medic, a parent, a child -

bringing hope, affection, or simply witness
kneeling, there, where the light has failed.

And never yet has he slept a whole night through.