When you throng my door
With a plate of bruise
HE
gores me like a trishul
turning my heart into a tabor
grinding my lips to utter
'So kind of Him
God has barged into a man's courtyard
like a temple'
My palms tremble to blend
at His mission
Tinkling of itching bruise all around
haunt me
I feel
I'm made to pray.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem