In praising you, Lord,
I paint you with words,
Golden and glorious,
The best I have,
Many wordstrokes later
I look back
At the letters and commas,
Exclamation marks and their kin
And realize
Till the full stop, all the ink
Was a waste
A conceit of my mind
I see you only
Where the canvas is blank
In praising you Lord,
I sing solemn songs
Full of devotion
Piety unparalleled
Listening, I find
You are only
In the silences between words
And in the calm
When the singer rests
And yet, Lord
I keep glorifying you in words
And singing your praises
On and on
I know not who I am
And behave as if
You know not who you are
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem