Today, Easter Sunday,
We squatted on our bed,
And held our hands close,
To pray for the gift of resurrection!
We opened our sacred book,
To read of passion, death and resurrection.
As you turned the pages in a search,
Of the chapter and verses to suite the day,
A verse slipped off as a book mark,
Of our hardbound text.
The verse of Rumi, that says,
'The most alive moment comes-
When those who love,
meet each others eyes,
And listen what flows in-between' !
Did that take away,
The lid of our lamps,
That held it's light for years off it's own reach?
The mirror on our wall,
That brought us shame,
And taught our bodies to lie,
That casting out inhibition to die
On our sacred nights, is a lie!
We squatted on our bed,
And held our hands close,
To pray for the gift of resurrection!
We opened our sacred book,
To read of passion, death and resurrection.
As you turned the pages in a search,
Of the chapter and verses to suite the day,
A verse slipped off as a book mark,
Of our hardbound text.
The verse of Rumi, that says,
'The most alive moment comes-
When those who love,
meet each others eyes,
And listen what flows in-between' !
Did that take away,
The lid of our lamps,
That held it's light for years off it's own reach?
The mirror on our wall,
That brought us shame,
And taught our bodies to lie,
That casting out inhibition to die
On our sacred nights, is a lie!
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