Each harsh word that filled his ears
was the mental burden he bore
so that we may speak the truth.
Each strike that bruised his cheek
was his willing embrace of our spiteful souls
and endless woes.
And each nail that punctured him
brought forth the blood
that would wash the stains
of sin and strife.
He wept our tears
and bled with a tender heart so that
our ears may hear his name.
Our sins were the thieves
who swindled his last breath,
but twas his heart that kept us
in such agonizing favor.
He shed his blood to give our souls breath...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Inspired fruit of meditation, this. Thanks.