A Poetic Tribute to Goa’s Saib and Sacred Shores

When winters claimed the Goan shores,

As November’s end drew near,

In dawn's first light, at Ponte de Linhares,

They wandered softly, year by year

Tirelessly they’d journey far, through Ribandar’s charm and flair,

Glancing upon old Goan Portuguese houses, standing proud and rare.

My dada would never miss the first dawn's Novena,

He'd fire up his Kinetic, racing swift as a hyena.

He'd always bargain with the poor candle seller for a great deal, 

so that his differently abled son can soon heal.

Each time he returned with words of grace from the saint,

He’d hand me a petal, untouched by taint,

From the holy place where Goencho Saib rests,

A blessing he’d bring, that I cherished the best.

At 4am I'd be waken up by the cold water of November, 

my mama would dress me up while I would still be in slumber.

With shawls, jackets, monkey cap I was ready to face the cold, 

while a hot coffee was made and quickly sold.

There was something about the basilica that awakened the holy spirit within us,

a tingy effect in our body and soul made us aware of a holy place that none truly knew.

Beneath the grand tent, the pandal stood tall,

With Blue steel chairs lined like shadows on the wall.

Eyes heavy with dreams, half-lost in sleep,

While murmurs of dawn through silence would seep.

And as the morning tiptoed near,

The veil of slumber began to clear.

My lids would lift to a gentle hue,

As the sun rose slowly, bowing too.

And as the final hymn took flight,  

I rose with fervor, heart alight.  

Each note a flame, each word a prayer,  

My soul unveiled, completely bare.  

The melody soared, the echoes grew,  

I joined the chorus, strong and true.  

A sacred bond, a holy art,  

Singing not with voice, but with heart.

Some pilgrims stayed where heritage lies,  

To witness novenas beneath sacred skies.  

Me as a child with wonder's embrace,  

Lived those days in that timeless place.  

Among ancient walls, faith would ignite,  

Candles flickered in the soft twilight. 

Prayers rose like whispers, carried afar,  

Guided by hope, like a steadfast star.

After the Novena, going to the fair was a must, my mama and sister discussed. 

Where choris pao, kadyo bodyo were a treat to the eye, 

my mama would buy 3 packets of mana and enjoy 'em while she'd relax on the òlter where she lie.

The grand day arrived of the feast the speakers were set,

the radio and television broadcasting were ready 

Crowds surged forth in eager streams,

Drawn by faith and hopeful dreams.

The tax-devourers claimed the front-row prie,

Steady and poised, with hearts open wide.

The bishop began the Grand Eucharistic celebration of 3 hours, 

with the choir blessing the tunes of grace and melody behold on the ears and eyes of ours.

Haters may Linger in dark or in a kar, they'd still be blessed by Goa's saib ata ani sodakar.

If one denies or does an act of hurtful violence, the people of Goa won't be in Silence

Because the Saint that protects the state and its people, how can one do the guilty act and be miserable?

By our faith and trust in him, his protection, guidance and joyful showers of blessings towards us is immeasurable.

In ten years The Goencbo Saib would see the sun, 

let us all in unity and and in love get to his feet one by one.

By Joel A. Dias