No queue for the life eternal,
even though - who'd argue?- it's priceless.
We avoid the thoughts of the terminal,
while the death made its nest in vices.
No means to pay off for the ticket,
even millions won't be enough.
Could you beg for it, could you nick it?
Silence fills with a venomous laugh.
Vain are learned prayers and fasting.
No payment to the King of kings
is enough for the life everlasting.
No cure of deadly stings.
We can't earn our entry for dwelling
in the heavenly sacred place.
Our efforts are doomed, we're failing,
so death as the verdict we face.
There are no special offers,
there are no magic words.
We can't win our lives as trophies
in the city where God abodes.
There are no cracks, no holes
in its walls - how could we get through?
Satan readily lulls and condoles:
‘Then the heaven might not be true!
Why to force the illusory gates
when this life is full of allure?’
So, raising to Satan's baits,
we consider this side more secure,
even though our hearts are crying,
that this life is often drab,
and the choice for satisfying
appetites is to toil or to grab.
All religious schools are boring.
Krishna's lying and talking trash.
Reach nirvana - your spirit soaring,
as you might expect, will crash.
All the candidates for God's throne
lack humanity and compassion.
Their empty advises are prone
to restrict God's goodness and ration.
Their game, alas, is not cricket.
It's well packaged, but in disguise
Satan sells his invalid ticket
to the place called Paradise.
How indeed could the loving father
watch his child, when drowning, cry?
He would risk his existence rather
than allow his child to die.
All the worldly thrillers would fade
if compared to the story of Christ
when his life eternal was laid
and at thirty coins was priced.
God Himself had become a slave,
God Himself took a torturous death,
so you and me could be saved,
if we breathe in His holy breath.
Let the enemy sell his lies
via people that he elects.
Only Jesus’ sacrifice
has the power to resurrect.
There is no queue to the heaven.
Don't make your life a rod.
Now the tickets are freely given
from the bleeding hands of our God.
12-14.03.04