From Baghdad to Belgium, ballistics blast
To the sound of trumpets on the wall
That falls, only to ever last,
As knives drawn on black lives still draw a pall.
We fast and feast upon the day of doubt,
As Jesus sleeps beneath a tomb of blue,
Descending into Hell to lead us out,
Dying on the Cross for me and you.
Hark, o hear, the bells and chanted psalms!
He rises from horizons in the East!
We killed the Lamb, Whom we had hailed with palms!
And yet, He bids us to His Easter Feast!
The Door of Mercy opens wide for us,
As roses bloom upon the dewdrops' blush.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem