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GUEST POET // Ravi Prasad : Garden of Gethsemane

I dream of the erotic Christ Whose broken body is paradise To lay hands on my secret wounds And weep intimately.

I dream of the oil of his hair And fragrant air of his dark skin Imbued with blood and grains of desert sand.

I dream he washed my feet  Where all the disciples meet  But more tender, eager and insistent.

I dream that we would dine On body-bread and blood-wine  Ecstatic and drunk in some cave surrounded by candles.

I dream his voice shakes and wails; Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani? For in no heaven is contained  So sweet a pain as the Earth possesses.

🎨/📷 by Paul Gauguin, Christ in the Garden of Olives, 1889


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