My God, why don’t you come?
You, who are the Creator,
and see what your creation became
and see how are your people living?
You know so hard and harsh our toiling
since we were banished from your side.
How much time will we endure alone?
When and where our meeting?
Meeting of reason and faith, and passion.
End of the longing for you and for our past,
for the primeval wellspring that outpoured us,
long, long ago,
for the Being we venerate, and, some, still love.
For one manor house, once inhabited
in the Paradise Land, that was relieved
not by one, but by four rivers.
Where the manor house, where the rivers?
Where you, so far from your creature,
aside from humanity, deaf for our grief?
Give us at least one of your four rivers
to mitigate and quench eternal thirst of fatherhood.
First published in the April 2015 issue of The Gambler.
Published in Dead Snakes, March 21, 2016.