When on the road to Damascus,
Paul heard the voice of our Saviour.
He, who was once Saul of Tarsus,
When on the road to Damascus,
Hearkened to the call of Jesus.
Blinded by heavenly lustre,
When on the road to Damascus,
Paul heard the voice of our Saviour.
I AM that light, foretold of yore,
Manger-born; angels did herald.
I, who seek hearts, knock at the door.
I AM that light, foretold of yore.
My blood-soaked cross heals darkness sore.
Shun your ire, abandon peril.
I AM that light, foretold of yore,
Manger-born; angels did herald.
When Saul sojourned three days in hell,
Stricken with cecity, he prayed.
Waves of angst, orations would quell.
When Saul sojourned three days in hell,
In his dread, Paul's better angels
Had encamped; toward love, he swayed.
When Saul sojourned three days in hell,
Stricken with cecity, he prayed.
You follow me, I follow you,
This is just not simple curiosity.
You can’t talk with me, I too keep away,
This is no compulsion, but our sincerity.
I don’t see you, you don’t see me,
But we feel the warmth of proximity.
You can’t touch me; I can’t feel you baby.
Still that warmth of your hand serves as apricity.
I feel the caress of your breath on my cheek.
Can’t smell you but your scent is pure ecstasy.
On this bench…you and I no longer sit together.
Here, I still enjoy your ruffling through my hair.
No! we can’ shatter; Nah! we can’t lose.
For you love me n I love you.
I will win you back sailing through this cruel cecity.
We shall stand strong through this adversity.
For our love is like attraction of gravity.
For our love is a symbol of purity.
WORD REFERENCE:
PROXIMITY: The state of being near to somebody
APRICITY: The warmness of the sun in winter.
CECITY: The state of lacking sight.
RUFFLING: To touch or move something smooth so that it is not even
ECSTASY: A feeling or state of great happiness
TO MY BLOOD
The very lone lodge visited I
Since between us an inevitable nap
In endless rows the route to sky
Seated my blood long ahead now
Thus butterfly beyond my cecity
And there was I deadly alive
Windmill by wind their glossolalia
In reverberant, whispered to my ears
Till my file be close our sight
When it drip no more of hourglass
And the orb to ants but a mat
By seven hundred years of our stand.
© Yusuf, A.O.
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