How many miles, O Wave,
have you traveled
Just to rush mad against the shore
And die beneath my feet?
How many centuries, O Rock,
have you stood by Lady Ocean
Unmoved by her heaving lulls
Just to serve me this morning as throne?
Your Painter knows better
than to waste His strokes
On seas, shores, dusks and dawns
Patterns He flings across the deep
To rest on mere man's eyes and feet
Who can't even sing a grateful song
of glory still discrowned
of glory yet regained
Your Designer goes beyond extravagance
as He hangs out accessories
Like meteors, rainbows, stars and storms
Wonders He sprinkles and slashes
To beckon the dog-tired tramp
Who has long since forgotten
his glory still discrowned
his glory yet regained
How much longer, O King of my heart,
must the soul groan
Till the divine curtains are split
To reveal the face of Your lavishness?
Meanwhile, as You do with each new morning,
Whisper to me that ageless romance of
a glory still discrowned
a glory yet regained.
Conceived morning of April 11, 2004 at Damai Lagoon, Kuching. Edited on February 10, 2005 for flow.
Labels: poems and poetry