Give me strength.
My heart sprints out of control.
And my mind is weak.
I saw you on Golgotha, standing next to the beloved disciple.
You were like a statue hewn of the finest marble.
Not a tear besmirched your face.
No groan distorted your silent grief.
I saw the Myrrh-bearer weep holding bravely on to the foot of the cross.
I saw fear, I smelt shame.
But, glory to thee Madonna, you led by example.
You heard and so do I, the final resignation in that voice of voices- It is over.
You, the mother, who bore in yourself creation itself.
I lack your strength.
I lack your belief.
I lack your instinctive knowledge of eternal truths.
So I beg thee Mother, give me strength.
Strength to bear the cross that is life,
Till I too can leave this worthless shell behind.