A Gift To Thee

My belly of thoughts clings to my backbone Never hungry, always starving of poetry Which can not exactly capture your spotlessness Mama learned me this knowledge of nature: A full stomach of ideas suffocates the mind of reasons And hypocritical bellies are full of garbage ideologies Since them, couldn't set my vision on hypocritical niceties 'Cos the feast of my soul is set on your poetic face of grace Capturing poetic elegance in your anatomy on the cross From your delicate hot bruised features The geometrical contours of your thorn crowned head Down to the neat flow of double curve network of blood Concave and convex, across each ripe cheek Flowing down into a pool at the foot of Golgotha Scholars may wear poetic finery to capture your imagery Though learned, am not versed in the cult of literature As for me, I petition my soul to impress you most When I shade clothing of poetic religio-fanatical complexity And paint your elegance without haste or delay With the brush of my artistic nagging thoughts As sweet as the spray of frankincense on your tender skin I have fallen in love with your words like art And I have nothing else to offer save these silly words Which I know is not good enough for a Heavenly Prince 'Cos I thought of you as an Immortal Prince come to life And myself as a lousy, clumsy mortal being Unaccountably granted the gift of your notice Am determined to woo you with all my soul's poetry And determined to wash my soul with thy tidal waves of devotion And as I again have nothing else worthwhile to offer I make a gift to thee of my Zaccheaus heart