Have seen him walking barefooted over the melted asphalt of path
That leads to barren earth and forlorn heap of graveyard.
Wounds are many; some countable, some concealed,
Some submerged in the wells of eyes never to be revealed.
Left he has mansions and churches; niceties are abhorred
Like a splinter of dead fire he breathes inside the body yet to be expired.
He creeps among the crawlers; he fights for his sustenance with the brawlers,
He drips from the eyes of criers; he believes like a promising giggle of a toddler.
He dwells in the hardship of life among the rotten shanties and slums
He embalms the sores of sufferers, left to die in some blackest of dungeons.
He resides among the poorest of the poor; he hates sin not the sinner.
Commonly, He gets slayed as an unknown animal among his known creature
And on other day, in some faraway woods, He gets rebirth as a pristine white flower.

3 thoughts on “Christ”

  1. Loved to read the lines “he hates sin not the sinner” and “he gets rebirth as a pristine white flower”,..super good!

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