Let me blaspheme in the subtlest way possible. Let me profane through a piece of literary work. Let me revere the words of theological writing for you. Let me, just let me.
I held the prayer beads, gazed at them, and praised the mighty Lord, as the day began. I was awakened by your call, the kind of call that happened in moments of revelations and caused by the power of divine intervention. I felt urged to pray in a quite quirky way.
I couldn’t describe the physical features of the prayer beads as my emotions transcended my judgments. I prayed so hard after a quite long time I didn't. I cried the tears of bloody repentance. I cried the tears of romantic godly devotion. I cried the tears of rustic dependence. I cried for you, my endearing idol. I prayed to be with you, to be unified with you, and to exist in the same physical realm with you.
I know we should have been together; we should have battled against all the odds that hideously disliked us in the past. We should have done that earlier. We should have fought for our love before they stopped us. We should have got ourselves weaponed before they struck us. I regret for not being with you in the past, for being so ignorant of my very own real needs.
I held the prayer beads, praised the omnipotent God, incessantly, before dawn. I never touched prayer beads the way I recently did. We both know that I had not been a devoted slave of God for a noticeable period.
Despite all what they said, I prayed to be with you this morning. I prayed to be with you eternally. All I ever wanted, they could be found in you. All I ever dreamt of, they could be discovered in you. I held the prayer beads and cried again. I could not ask for more.
You made me salacious, when I should have been pious. You made me go wrong when I tried to be moral. I found my extraterrestrial bliss in you. I found my supernatural peace when I was with you. I found my renegade self when I was touched by you. I found you when I needed love, and love was what I really needed.
You gave me a French made perfume when I was lack of good smell. You embalmed my dead body when it almost decayed. You preached me when I was about to lose faiths. Your private sermon meant the world to me. You saved this fallen angel from eternal damnation.
I prayed for us to be together. I wish we could weather the storm with robustness and never-ending bravery. I will last in this battle for you. Those prayer beads were touched back for you. I counted on God when I usually did not.
You were my Rasta Fari when I needed a Messiah. You were the savior of this almost dead body. You were the rescuer of the day. How could I not fall for you, when the Lord of cosmic drama ordained me to? I just fell for your canonical way; fell into your snare of affection, before caught by the web made by your love cult.
You could ask me to compose a hymn of spiritual poise now. My whole mind is now ready to produce a holy scroll for you. I saw my personal apocalypse when you were not around. Your promise kept me alive; it came at the nick of time, when I needed it the most.
I would not regret for touching those prayer beads this morning; the prayer beads that I had been abandoning, the ones that I had been storing in the warehouse. I bowed down to God, smelled the epic, ancient odor of my prayer mat, and glorified the Supreme Being with utter sincerity. Randomness was out of this, I prayed to be with you on purpose. I want to be with you, like how Juliet wanted to be with Romeo.
I was once interested in eschatological issues. I was once interested in Freemasonic values. I was once interested in the genealogy of Jesus. I was once interested in the book of Ezekiel. Those were my past. I am now interested in personal issues. I am now interested in marital values. I am now interested in the genealogy of your family. I am now interested in your diary. They are now my current; they are the presents given by you. I love you with my holiest love. My celibacy depends on you. If you want me to keep it, I will. If you want me to sell it, I will. If you want me to surrender it to you, I certainly, unequivocally will.
This whole sacred writing, could sound sacrilegious to many. This unclean soul longs for your presence. This unclean soul wants to be with you. This unclean soul ravenously looks forward to see you. This unclean soul might not have prayed in the language of semitic tribes but this unclean soul has prayed with his deepest sincerity. This unclean soul knows that he will not be holier than thou but this unclean soul is ready to accept religious mirages told by you into his account of beliefs. This unclean soul wants to know you, a miracle that is easy to discern.
You taught me about religions; you taught me how Abraham almost sacrificed his son, Ishmael. From that I learnt how to sacrifice everything for you. You are not some myth innovated by any psychotic shamans. You are a real being, a real tangible being that can touch and be touched.
I think I’m done writing about you for the moment. You are the only possible reason I could narrate like Herodotus of Halicarnassus when I am not asked to. I pray to be with you, all day and night. I pray to hold you, like the way you hold your religious virtue. I pray for you, forever and always, for you. Like a true templar, my love stands for you. Like a virgin lady, I’ll wait for you. For you, like I always do.
I believe in God but I also believe in you. God is true and so are you.
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