National Poetry Month, Day 11
Submitted by Mukul Pandya
A Sort of Prayer
On rage-filled nights, I reinvent you, my god
And spew angry bile at your black-hole divinity.
Leave what is vile,
Absorb what calms
Like a wash of sleep after a nightmare.
Had I faith, I would pray – not to a formless void
That contains galaxies, but to all that is
Gentle in us.
And praying, re-awaken my spirit
From numbess, the distance of fear.
Teach me, o sky-faced god, to pray:
Teach me words that do not spin in futile orbits
Around the universe, but touch
What is best in me.