Tag: Church

Notre Dame

How prayers that stood on tongue tips, Carving plumes of noise, as She, the lady of Paris, resists the dragons,  Looming like the sun at sunset, and still, She will rise to the heavens, unlike Babel, To prove that no man can Vanquish Notre Dame, or decimate The memory of pilgrims scattered all over this

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Father Ducky and The Bible

There’s a priest nicknamed Ducky, Who one day told me to open a bible. I did so in front of him. And he read the bible and told Me to take that as a premonition, Of how my luck will turnout in life. Now I don’t read the bible anymore, A book belonging to Christianity,

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Stigmata

On top of Golgotha, In that grotesque skull mountain, was a man, Who rejected divinity and made himself available for a sacrifice.  And in that somber view, you can see two thieves on either side And a man, who could not leave behind a bigger legacy. His bearded 33 year old face, now embellishing millions

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Darkness and Light

A lone warrior scampers To the backyard swing. Swinging low and high, While in the other corner of town, The church is hunted by children Who grew up in its ranks, pointing the finger. A cassock hangs from a closet While inside a larger closet, hides A lifetime of desire, clogged Beneath, detonating onto a

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The Two Cheeks of Catholicism

Hands together praying In assemblies of holy warriors, Crusaders no longer battling Saladin Only the roly-poly waves Of atheism, as the leverage of religion Becomes fickle, embattled to a slow strain Of gradual extinction, with traces Of a Dodo-like madness. And here in this corner of Sri Lanka There is the emergence of the charismatic

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Conscience

The Papal fairytale From Boca Junior to Papacy The supposed shepherd of the church A street fighter of social justice Rests as aloof of common man As Nero was, with the fiddle in his hand No chamber or secret room in the Vatican Can ever relegate a chamber in the human heart To the worthlessness

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The Old Woman at St Mary’s Bambalapitiya

The bell chimed before midnight Lights were afloat in color, flickering In the mistral that brought along a cold front To the church goers, as they slowly Crept through the arches to the waiting choral sounds, And a lofty pine tree stood Like it was brought to life by the wonder Of the deco of

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Honeymoon

Why we didn’t have sex Before marriage, was not a case Of fear of the unknown, or a stage I’m not a thespian at, it was just a wait For the sheer delight that heart-works Could usher, the body’s prayer to one day Rejoice in Hosanna And in our honeymoon We made a tempest glorious

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