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Poetry || SubmissionsPrayer By Alex GavrilovichIn your temples I have prayed for unity and peace and brief contentment I have spoken to your fathers many times. (Kiryos, why has the virgin not appeared to us for so long on these streets ? Or doesn't she visit us in our modern public squares because they remind her so much of her son's last visit to Jerusalem ? I guarantee you this : she will not be arrested for vandalizing the mega shopping mall or making havoc in head offices of global corporations. She will only be escorted out. “Just another bag lady, sir...”) I have bowed to Mecca with great trepidation at the sight of your power and dreamt of the prophet's ascencion , of helping the widowes and orphans, of shouting your many sacred names from the top of minaret, of becoming your Shakhid in the quest of creating a world based on love and justice. I have circled the K'aaba for many days, and have found peace in its dark coolness, in the bottomless deep of the eyes of its pilgrims. I have stood with my brothers and sisters in Minyan on the day of atonement and the ram's horn penetrated my heart. It has now enveloped my consiousness. I asked my Rabanit if this is how Shkhina feels. She smiled and said : “this is the intellectual love of god. When Shkhina comes upon you all you can do is weep”. I have crawled on my knees in Spanish cathedrals and embroidered the image of the rosary on my own name. ” Father , when we are all just many aspects of the one, why are we so determined to hurt each other ? I hope this is not a child's question...” “No, my son , it is the first question that an agnostic asks after he engaged in true prayer”. “ Is there a blueprint for the good life , Batyushka ? If there is , can I find it on the streets, in the shops, in houses of commons, in factories ? Or can I find it here?” I asked the old gentle soul in Slavonic as we both gazed at the ikon of the black Maddona, deep at the dark welcoming bowels of the drafty St.Basil's. “No, child , here you only ask questions. They have been asked many times before. It is your duty as a conscious human being to search for the answers.” “But Padre, the answers are out of reach and the questions have been asked by men far wiser then myself...” He smiled and said nothing , stepping out of the dusty church to play ball with the muchachos under the burning Chiapas sun. He was sweating as his attention turned towards the game.The children laughed at his clumsy attempts to lift their spirits and erase pain and hunger from the center of their being. It was the natural extension of his prayer. My name is Alex Gavrilovich and I'm 26 years young. I live and and work in Toronto , where I enjoy writing poetry when i'm not too busy reading it ( or when i'm not too busy being a law student). Alex Gavrilovich Today's Situation
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