A Poet's Prayer

In poems after poems

I describe Thee, My Lord,

Only to show how

Indescribable Thou are,

How far my words

Reside from Thy Glory.

How can I describe Thee

In words, My Lord, when

The very words I utter

Are uttered at Thy behest

And deepen Thy Mystery?

Even if I were immortal,

Even if an ocean were my ink-pot,

Even if thou said, “O my son!

Thy effort hast pleased me”,

My Lord, I would write for eternity.

The more I write and falter,

The more I struggle and fail,

The more my attempt loses its path,

The more proud I feel, My Lord,

Of my Divine Inability.

Let me drink the wine named poetry,

Let me be drowsy, My Lord, for decades,

for millenniums, for eternity.

Who wants to lose the joy of

‘Hide and seek’, in the name of

Penning poems, which I play with Thee?