WORSHIP

In a faded denim and a royal blue tee,
and with a day-old stubble, a pair of dreamy eyes,
he looked a vintage lover.
And, how he worshipped today, strumming
his guitar, letting out his melancholic voice,
romancing the Lord…and how I wanted you
to be my side as I wept like a baby,
for His love and yours, with my heart overwhelming
with gratitude that you are back, and how!

I just wanted to hold your hands, in that
proprietorial confidence, and thank Him,
for preserving our love for each other,
in all the troubles and passages of time,
in all the strange ways we have journeyed alone,
in all the weird ways we have sorted our lives out,
in all the valleys of tears, and shadows of death,
in the days and nights of crowded loneliness.

As he strummed and hummed, tears flowing
and heart brimming with joy, I stood there,
eyes wet and closed, feeling His presence,
hearing the reassuring voice that
all is His doing, and again I heard that promise,
that soft voice inside, that we’ll hold hands,
one day, in His day.