Stigmata Poem by nimal dunuhinga

My Lord Jesus, the human God I can touch,
poor shepherd who looked after us.
You were crucified by our human brotherhood.
Your innocent blood stain
do the puritans can wash
and clean their hands ever?
You climbed the mountain Golgotha
with the heavy cross,
if I were there my Lord
definitely I could have given my shoulder.
I am carrying my cross since childhood
and I realized the heaviness.
I meet sometimes Judas with his thick curved mustache
but still I am anxiously searching my dear Lord in this carnage.