Joseph – Dad of Jesus

This poem is slightly controversial. Its on Joseph, Jesus’s foster father, who I admire a great deal. He was the reason Jesus became the man he is. Joseph is also my alma mater, the name of my school, where I studied for 12 years.   Joseph the carpenter, and Mother Mary,  A virgin carrying half…

Pitching Lines of Prayer

What do you pray for? A question that looks at the power Of a little conjecture that remains Unproven in mathematics. You look in the mirror at the wayward Strands and the whitish face with scabs, Just woken up to another day. You remember asking God to postpone Your hair fall when you were 21,…

Catholic Boy

Not an alter servant or priest Or a tax collector who wanted To be rolled over by the faith engine. I stood for love. That crazily stupid Feeling that lets go of the sinful eyes. And I will always be that stereotypical catholic Who waited till marriage, To be that cheat, who copied from instinct,…

Virginity – Recycling An Old Post

As a choice virgin till marriage, I do have my reflections and thoughts to share on this rather uneasy issue. My virginity was a subject of far-reaching debate in most parts of the world and even caused continental rifts between groups of individuals. First, there was that rumor that I had lost my virginity to…

Galle

Galle, Galle, they shout, the bus conductors Near a new paved highway to a coastal town. Gallus gallus is a chicken, a red one for that matter That they say made this town, Galle. And a few miles internally Near a jungle, you get the wild junglefowl As the national bird of Sri Lanka. That…

The Priest and the Nun

The night blanketed in an autumn chill Leaves treading lightly to the soil’s fill Patches of burgundy amidst skeletal maples Rustling and rocking to the fall mistrals The moon pries from her heavenly perch At a lass sitting outside an archaic church The night juvenile sprouting of desire For her heart is a lantern kindled…

Rosary

Calvary was a path, the via dolorosa Golgotha was a destination of choice Resurrection was sheer transcendence And rosary is a walk on a cobblestone path Prayer is a pre-destined search for true beauty And fate, what else but the surrealism Of a string of faith beads.

Why I don’t goto Church anymore

My parents didn’t give me a Christian name As if they knew I would leave my faith one day – A faith that abandoned me completely – I was meant to be the infidel, the pagan. My life was not about a pseudo-faith. Like sinners Flocking like birds to exalt the god of an aviary…

Alter Boy

He hid behind The façade of squeaky cleanness An alter-boy growing up Who perennially wondered what wine tasted like He thought he wanted to become a priest Make landslides in the heart with well-rehearsed words Then he grew up and realized He was neither kind enough nor cared enough to be one And celibacy or…