My Prayer

Poem by Hristo Botev
O my God, my righteous God.
Not you, in heaven apart,
but you, who are within me, God -
within my soul and heart…

Not you, to whom the holy priests
and monks must genuflect
and all of orthodoxy's beasts
light tapers in respect;
not you, who once created man
and woman from the dirt,
then allowed their human clan
to be as slaves on earth;
not you, who have anointed kings,
popes, patriarchs and others,
and abandoned to their suffering
all the poor, my brothers;
not you, who but instruct the slave
by calm and prayer to cope
and then sustain him to the grave
upon his empty hopes;
not you, the true God of the cruel,
the liers and the sham,
not you, the idol of the fools
and the enemies of man.
But you, God of the human mind,
defender of the slave;
it soon shall be that all mankind
shall celebrate your day.
O God, inspire in every man
a love of liberty
that they may fight as best they can
the people' enemies.
Make powerful this hand of mine
for the rising of the slaves;
I'll join them at the battle-line
that I may find my grave.
Do not let this stormy heart
grow cold in foreign lands,
let not my voice in silence pass
as if through desert sands.
(Contributed by Jery on Friday, March 4th, 2011)
 
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