She entered the big building;
A big hall,
Big shining lamps,
Big glass windows,
That revealed the green flocks of trees outside;
Walking in the hall
She knew that inside,
There stood God;
She headed towards him;
A white small table,
A white chair
Where God was sitting;
As soon as she saw him,
He was talking to her;
But it was in low voice.
So she kept asking to him
To speak louder;
Then she thought,
She understood something,
But was not sure,
What he said.
So she asked him to repeat;
He did not;
And somehow she understood,
That God was not speaking in english;
She was hearing the words,
He would say
And they sounded dry,
Without shape and form;
She thought:
«That could not be a language at all!»
She could not imagine
A language sounding like that;
It was obvious:
She could not understand God;
But what made a lasting impression to her,
Was that even god
Could not understand her!
He would not raise his voice,
She asked him to do so;
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Author:
amethyste (
Offline) - Published: May 29th, 2025 15:35
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Poetic Licence, Priya Tomar
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Comments2
A great metaphor for prayer and people asking and not receiving and wondering why. Why would God speak any of our languages and why should we have the audacity to think he should? A most mind provoking poem well done a fave
Nice to hear from you again dear. Thank you for reading my poem and commenting on it. There is warmth in being heard.
A thought inspiring write around being understood and listened to, weather that be in religion or normal life, particularly when their prayers or requests are not delivered, enjoyed the read
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