#sacrament
I. The Grave of Craving
We laid our hunger in unmarked red loam
Where drums once warned the careless ear to hear;
The oracle slept, exiled from its home,
Its wisdom priced, its cowries sold for fear.
A river learned to open, then to close,
As if escape were sin the poor must earn;
The sun stood still above unfinished oaths,
While ledgers taught the future how to burn.
A calf arose in robes of borrowed breath,
Its gold absolved by prayer and legal ink;
It fed on hope, then named the feast not death,
And taught the land to bow before the brink.
So craving ruled by sacrament and pen--
We dug its grave, then crowned it king of men.
© Lanre Adebayo
May 6
May 6, 2026 at 10:27 AM UTC
Oh Lord, the question hangs, a heavy stone,
How does a son of man dare speak such bone-deep tone?
To claim in earthly form, a sacred space,
To find within a body, God's own grace.
Is it defiance? Blasphemy unbound?
To elevate the human, hallowed ground?
To see the folds of skin as text unseen,
A holy writ upon a mortal queen?
He sees the shadows dance, a whispered lore,
And traces lines where secrets lie in store.
The curve of wrist, the hollow of the knee,
Become a landscape, wild and utterly free.
He feels the rhythm pulsing, strong and true,
The vital drumbeat that he kneels unto.
A living prayer, a silent, heartfelt plea,
Within the temple of her energy.
Each sigh escapes, a breath of sacred air,
A melody unheard, beyond compare.
Each touch, a spark, igniting from within,
A sacrament of love, absolving sin.
He's lost within the gaze, the gentle hand,
Adoring beauty he can understand.
No gilded altar, cold and far away,
But warmth and breath within the light of day.
The flesh, so mortal, fragile, and so frail,
Transforms to something that he cannot fail
To worship as a wonder, brightly shone,
A living altar, claimed as his alone.
But is it worship, or a selfish need?
A claiming of devotion, planting seed
Of earthly passion, twisting pure intent,
To serve a longing, heaven never sent?
Or could it be a glimpse, a sudden flash,
Of God's own beauty hidden in the flesh?
A recognition of the spark divine,
Reflecting back, in every curving line?
Perhaps the Lord, in wisdom vast and deep,
Allows such words, a promise He will keep,
To show that love, in purest form conceived,
Can find the sacred where it is believed.
So let the question linger in the air,
A challenge posed, a burden hard to bear.
But let the beauty, whispered and so low,
Of earthly love, its sacred meaning show.
For in the crooks and curves, the pulse, the sigh,
A son of man may glimpse eternity nigh,
And find, perhaps, a truth he can embrace,
God's light reflected in a human face.
Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 12:35 AM UTC
Soul washing
Is entirely different
One doesn't need
Any guidelines
Not any rituals
Not any sacrament
Not any particular time
Not any change of clothes
Not distinct air to inhale
Not any price to pay
Not the holi water
No, nothing
As such
Touching lives
Just stay human
Always
Feb 6, 2020
Feb 6, 2020 at 9:40 AM UTC
भूकम्प, झरी भन्दा आजकाल
सरकारसँग डराउनु पर्छ हामी
विषादी प्रसाद खाऊ भन्छ
Jul 6, 2019
Jul 6, 2019 at 11:24 AM UTC
We are a mere mortal
Two fates in a maze
Our love was hallowed by Eros
The blind, yet aimed his bow
Right through my essence
Right through your essence
Our passion was bound by Aphrodites
Two doves nesting
Two swans in Narcissus pond
Channeling the energy in our rite
Tragedy,
Mortal forbade the sacrament
We seek to endure the fall
Becoming stars,
As we cross one another
In an boundless interrior
Of our abode.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 8:05 PM UTC