ON THE WAY TO CALVARY

The crown of thorns, not floral crowns

That adorns the rich velvety hair.

Bleeding over the sins of all he loves

Blood seeping through the wires of hair

The magnificent Lord, Jesus Christ!

The lifted wooden cross, is there, in his arms;

The haggard body wades its way

Through the clammering crowd; wild and violent!

O God! Loved are you in our hearts

And, we, restless; till with you.

The child like innocence still illuminating;

The afflicted face in motley ways.

Accursed are those who beat him

The sinless lamb, of a bloody tale.

O Lord! Reduced are we, to nothingness

On seeing you crucified in black hands!

Youthful Christ, save me in your soul,

With the laden core of the Holy Cross!

Store my flaming sweat of lifeless air;

And mix with mine, your eternal blood!

Dear, you are mine, and of all the destitute

Loving you with the fullest strength of a trivial being!

Answer you are, to all unanswerable

And offseting beauty, for all my ugliness!

Garlands are made, of torrents of tears

To bedeck you, with all I have.

A drop of blood; from your shoulder wound;

Suffice it to appease my burning thirst!