A Modern Man’s Prayer

Head bowed, hands clasped, eyes closed,

I repeat the prayer again and again

Until it vibrates around my head, and become

Echoes

Chants

A song that gives restlessness to rustling leaves,

the unmoved summits of mountains,

and part the clouds like sea: maybe an ear would hear.

 

I could feel the echoes of my prayer glide

Through my skin like milk,

Bathing me with the velvety, slick touch

Of lies

As soon as the echoes disappear,

The soul’s ripples are calmed,

And the voices of the new gods

Of cellphones and laptops, Youtube and Facebook

Boom louder,

As fire consumes schools,

The last flavor of fear is tasted by a man

Soon to lose his head,

And the sounds of bullets ricocheting and screams piercing

The air

Are not heard but read, photographed and then—

A moment’s alarm, a prayer, a post on Facebook

Routines deafening all the sounds:

The blazing fires are prayer, fear is prayer,

Bullets are prayer, screams are prayer,

Perhaps the gods’ answer is the modern

Man’s sympathy.

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