The bridge to heaven

a poem by Alok Srivastava

They walk on me with thumping shoes,
as if they were uncaring brutes.
But I am sure in my heart;
they’re sad for their blows smart.
Bitter indeed are the cruel nails,
on my flesh with wounds that ail.
Reminding me of crucifixion;
repeatedly I suffer affliction.
Let’s take the pains of today,
in hope of the Lord’s day.
He surely will exact revenge:
for the devil’s innumerable offense.
The stripes of so many years,
is naught before eternal cheers.
The cool wind from far off heaven,
invites us into arms pleasant.
So walk on me O my dears:
but mourning, for my many tears.