Dearest Jesus
If my time to carry the cross comes
Allow me to do it without the presence
Of any multitude
All the beatings… the spittings
The spears
The thorns
I’ll receive them secretly
In the dark
Please don’t let me see
A drop of tears from my woman’s eyes
Especially a mother
For she will surely feed
My vanity and pride
Then I’ll no longer be able
To sustain for the next station
When it’s time for my crucifixion
Let my body be chopped to the tiniest bits
So that they can be scattered across the universe
Without being identified
Otherwise they will hand me over to a pack
Of scavengers who will piece me back together
Then they will nail me on a million crosses
And place me between two wolves
Oh, that will be most horrible
I’m afraid I may not be able to say
One last word
But if it is so, LORD
THY WILL BE DONE
For I am just a dreg
P.S. I’m sorry, Jesus, I could not even
Carry the sawdust of your cross.