Thursday, May 21, 2009


The road was hot and dusty,
They jostled her around,
She inched her way towards Him,
Almost crawling on the ground.

Her face was pale and sickly,
Her eyes were burning bright,
She’d heard the Master’s message,
His words brought hope and light.

She strained to touch the Savior
Under cover, as He spoke,
She knew she would be healed if only,
She could touch His cloak.

Twelve long years she’d suffered,,
Losing all her wealth,
The doctors could do nothing,
To bring her back to health.

She knew they called Him Master,
Teacher, Healer, Son of God,
With expectant faith and hope,
She came to meet the Lord.

There was a rush of feeling,
She felt infused with grace,
Instantly she felt released,
From death’s dark embrace.

“Who touched Me? I sensed power,
Going out from Me,”
She fell before the Master
And confessed her history.

“Your faith,” He said, “my daughter,
Has healed you, go in peace,”
In the Sacrament of Penance
We attain the same release.

Myra D’Souza / 20.05.2009

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Was born in Mumbai.  Studied in St. Michael's Convent in Karwar.  Went to Wadia College in Pune. Did a Secretarial course in Mumbai at Nirmala Niketan and at Burnleys Institute. Came to Kuwait at 21 years of age, and still  here.  Married with 3 wonderful children a girl and two boys and a great husband.