Tag: Jesus

Mary Magdalene

  How a woman, who escaped A barrage of stones danced to Jesus, The sweet music of a mandolin, A step closer, the belly dancing navel, Looking like a whirlpool, sultry And inviting. How a woman, who could Sweeten Jesus’s lips, with The sweetest flow-through Of viscous honey.   Her body, which like the walls

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Messi and Jesus

  Boot master, relentless workaholic, Tatoo junkie and yet supreme architect of Moves rapturing towards goal. The precise passes, the hopeful lobs, The attacking runs, how a man who learnt, That one hand is more flexible Than another, learned later on, That the same is true For the feet. How we are All, preferred-limbed soldiers

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Jesus the Party Pooper

  When Anno Domini was a baby, Was when a man with charisma, Emerged, and became a tall lighthouse, To storm- ravaged hulls. And that man Jesus, Went to become a party pooper, Playing lamb on top of the skullcap mountain, A place called Golgotha. A man who stood in the rain, barely clothed, Nailed

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Good Friday

How one man, who can be, Only defined by one Latin word – Caritas, Chose to be nailed to a cross  To save a species, whose wisdom Stood second to sin. In this moment in history, We remember the most selfless act in a long history Of mankind. How a 33 year old man, saved

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Jesus Christ – Lizard?

They say Jesus knew he would die Soon, a plan that was meticulously laid, And implemented with Judas’s kiss, As I wonder whether Jesus was A moth to a flame, those moths, That crash into the burning blue, ablaze. The largest moth is called the Atlas moth, Whose big wings are majestic, Called Atlas, to

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Pieta

Mother Mary, holding on to her son, Learning that grief is just Love lapsing a life of a loved one,  And that bond between mother and son, It ignites a flammable flame, How grief will burn and subside On the periphery, while love Will remain occupied at the center, How the child will never cease,

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New York (In response to today’s poem-a-day from Academy of American Poets)

I got inspired to write this poem after this poem-a-day from the Academy of American Poets. My poem is second and Jenny Xie’s poem is first. Naturalization Jenny Xie His tongue shorn, father confuses snacks for snakes, kitchen for chicken. It is 1992. Weekends, we paw at cheap silverware at yard sales. I am told

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Conchology

On a skull hill Overlooking a sleepy town There was a man who was evicted.  He was whipped, clothes ripped apart Humiliated in front of throngs, Paraded with two cut throat thieves, And hung on a cross of timber. And today, he is still found on a million crosses, On bed stands, between clavicles, On

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Good Friday (Rejected by Permafrost Magazine)

At home, Good Friday is a hard day to get through. The meat of chicken and pigs have magically Transformed to Jesus’s flesh, and it’s a no-go zone For the catholic-minded. Over at the table You count the goodies from your neighbors After all, it is New Year too in Sri Lanka, but your face

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