The Cross They Choose

The Cross They Chose

—For Amma and Appa

by Ysomi

They came from homes of grace and gold,

Where comfort reigned and stories told,

Of noble names and honored line—

But chose a path by God’s design.

They left behind the easy way,

To kneel, to serve, to fast, to pray.

The cross they chose, they bore with pride,

And walked with angels at their side.

My father, clothed in humble white,

A clergyman, a soul of light.

Not just in robes, but deep within,

He lived to free the hearts of men.

From holy roots my father came—

His father’s voice, his grandfather’s name.

Men who walked where few would tread,

And lifted hope where fear had spread.

Beside him stood my mother true,

In every trial, she carried too.

Not in shadow, never small—

But strong and bright, she gave her all.

They raised me poor in worldly things,

But rich in what true living brings—

In song, in prayer, in selfless art,

They carved the Word into my heart.

I learned that wealth is love that stays,

And grace is found in quiet ways.

That kneeling low can lift you high,

And truth is worth the cost to try.

My father’s voice still lives in me:

“When you can’t stand, bend your knee.”

“Whatever comes, just trust His hand—

He leads the soul to where it’s planned.”

“Read the Word; it holds the key.

What I could not, it speaks for me.”

He taught me strength with softened tone,

And showed the beauty of the known unknown.

My mother—oh, she lit the air,

With song and kindness everywhere.

She taught me how to smile through pain,

And give till only love remains.

And now I walk the path they made,

In every word and prayer I’ve prayed.

I live their lessons, soft and true,

And try to touch lives as they do.

There isn’t a single day I don’t

Feel them near me, though they won’t

Return until that promised call—

The Second Coming, Lord of All.

Sometimes, I see their grace anew

In souls whose hearts are pure and true.

And one I know, so strong, so still—

May rise, if he would only will.

For strength alone is not the test;

The greatest lead with love expressed.

To carry pain, to choose to stay—

That is the noblest, holiest way.

So if you walk with soul and fire,

With humble steps and pure desire,

Then you may stand where angels trod—

A servant, leader, child of God.

I love you, Amma. I love you, Appa.

You are my song, my breath, my flame.

And everything I hope to be

Still bears the echo of your name.

About the Author:

Somi Philip Chempothara is a tender, blooming voice in poetry, shaped by love, loss, and quiet faith. From a childhood touched by a stranger’s kindness to a life stretched across continents, her words rise softly from the soul.