Lord, You that keep the universe in your hands
who are even aware of the sparrow, the finch,
the dew hanging on pieces of grass,
every star that shines in the heavenly dome
say that You have made man
just less than a godly being
and at times I wonder how every terrible thing bothers You,
from the day that man committed sin?
Where You came as the sacrifice for man’s fate,
tried to teach us to live together in love,
and hanged silent like a lamb on the cross,
but still people view You as a God that does not forgive:
how do we hurt You with our poems,
where we make misfortune, murder and death your plague control.
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