by Kyle Lehman
We wake to sleep, we breathe to cry.
Our mothers dreamed and brought us forth to die;
For every cradle opens up a grave,
And every child is one we cannot save.
The light fades from the western skies;
Fear casts us down before we rise.
Your cradle too will one day be a grave;
Your life is one the Father will not save.
Nu mai e slava.
But birthed tonight with beast and bird and tree,
Your advent breaks all broken spirits free.
Your curled fist will punch the devil’s face;
Your heel, though crushed, will put him in his place.
Your tiny sob makes all the heavens black.
Your light goes forth to bring all children back.
Aceasta e Glorie.
Back from the sorrows our own hands espouse,
Back to a home hearth in your Father’s house.
Photo by Kenneth Godoy
3 thoughts on “Advent XXII”
This poem is stunningly inspiring. Love the photo too! Thank you so much.
But I haven’t figured out what “Nu mai e slava.” means. An idea for future poems with foreign phrases: you could have the meanings in footnotes below for those like me who are less learned=)
Glad you enjoyed the poem. “Nu mai e slava” is Romanian for “there is no more glory.” And the final line of the poem means “ truly glory.” Someday I’m going to write a Romanian poem I hope.
Thank you for the definition, Kyle.
Good luck with your Romanian poem=)