Poem On His 55th Birthday Poem by Leo Yankevich

<i> Abba, Pantocrator, </i>
I won't pray to a Semitic demiurge,
but to You, the Most High,
You who lit the stars
and gave a heartbeat to time.

On my knees before the night,
in every star I see you.
Lift me from this realm
of the lion eating the lamb,
of the leopard eating the hare.

Take me there where the flesh
is neither hunted nor lusted,
where the meek are meek,
where the haughty are haughty
and the good pure, pure of heart.