A prevalent aura of sadness—
“My God, why have you
abandoned me? ”
His grief soothes, embraces:
“My beloved son:
I am well pleased.”
Humanity
hangs from nails.
Pain wells up,
“Father! In your hands
I entrust my spirit.
Forgive them.”
The fabric of mercy hangs
limp from innocent hips—
falls free below
a narrow, pallid wound—
The wrap, in grace, of atonement.
A winding Sheet
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem