I often feel I could stretch up to the clouds,
and tear them like a sheet of paper,
in the vain hope maybe I saw You,
even if that means blinding.
I step on the sidewalk, with eyes clinging to the sky,
almost hitting against the hurried men,
hoping maybe I saw You coming in a chariot of fire,
like You once took prophet Elijah into Your kingdom.
I’m not saying it’s impossible, Lord, but from so much waiting
my ships have sunk in sand, and the sails
have long ago lost their glowing.
I won’t move from here – only a thought: come in springtime…