When little you own to live for and far,
Your righteousness when for far little counts,
Knocked down, battered, much bruised when you are,
When your wasted shadow forever haunts;
When rites, rituals are robbed of magic,
Pilgrimage, nor piety when appease,
Tedious worship when loses all logic,
Divine grace lingers, though on last lease;
Keen when you are to off-load your old self,
To fill life's vacuum with divine presence,
Dying to leave behind all power and pelf,
And fill your heart with unending silence;
Ready are you to embrace divine bliss,
O to fill life with fullness that you miss.
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Written on 18th April 2004, a Maundy Thursday, one of the sacred triduum—the three holy days forming the Christian spiritual calendar: Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Mark
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Sonnets | 10.04.04 |
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem