Abwûn (Our Father)
written by: Charlie Bottle
Who listens to the whispering waterfall,
In the quiet solitude of forests deep,
None, but the crazed poet, and its creator,
At one with the forest and the waterfall.
Who watches the wizened face of poverty,
The unkempt hair, dirty clothes, faces and hands,
None but you, as you look into our hearts,
And from there flows the fountain of your mercy.
Who listens to the chirping of the sparrow,
With a broken wing, it plaintively calls,
The prowling cats hear its call,
But it is you that mend its wing.
Look into the placidness of my stillness,
Beneath, lie your great pools of mercy,
Remove man's flotsam that covers my face,
Then will your love be reflected by me.
Beaten by hands uncaring,
Inconsolably, have I wept through the night,
Soothe my throat, dry from crying,
Give me your salve, your balm for my pain.
Give me your voice and speak for me,
For I am mute, no words come when I speak,
Burdened by burdening burdens,
Please can you help me? My Father? My Friend?
They robbed me of my dignity,
And stole Love's gold gossamer,
They find no buyers, foolish thieves!
Cover me, for they have left me naked and cold.
Take the fragrant petals they tore from me,
Those who knew not my worth in your eyes,
In a jar steep them with your sweetness,
Store together my memories and your goodness.
Oh Companion of my journey,
Speak to me before I sleep,
If for a moment take away my ache,
The miles of pain grow as I seek rest.
Who hears me when I cry,
Dolefully, in the night's stillness,
None but you, as you sit,
Your eyes locked into mine, comforting me.