God Who Cried
"Eli, Eli, Lama Sabachthani"
I know feeble feathers can't make a hill quiver.
I know no beast can stand against an elephant.
Once, I made the monarchs and monarchies shiver.
Why, then, like a lamb, do I let wolves be triumphant?
I know I could have taken the bull by the horns.
My body is broken now. My blood has been shed.
My head is poked with a crown made of iron thorns.
A cross, made by me once, has become my deathbed.
I'm fixed on the cross. My heart and mind get stirred.
The power of powerlessness puts my soul to the test.
Existence seems as though endlessly gone absurd.
I scream and screech. My turmoil turns into tempest.
I've borne the human pains in my body and soul.
Pains of my passion make my incarnation whole.
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