Is it not time for me to cry?

Tell me dear,
When You hath thought of bathing me
By sandal paste,
Draping me, all gone, this morn,  a waste...

When you tied me by your cries
your sobs, your silent screams,
your morn a golden cream,
Your Holy knot
Like a string,
Your light borne feather dropping
On my boatglide through waters of rivers,
Tell me dear,
Whence in Your mansion white
You thought of holding me dumb a write,
As your Best Bless, Your Eloquence,
And when you drench me by Your wide spread kindness,

Is it not time
For me, to cry?
To cry an ocean?
To cry a red wine, a potion?

Tell me,
Is it not times?
To chant You loud and clear?
To get awakened by You, again, chanticleer?


Popular posts from this blog

How many times, love,

Still remember the day