top of page
  • hashtagkalakar

At The Altar

By Yukti Bhatnagar

Standing at the altar the Lord

are you & I,

staring Him in the eye

as we allow Him to prepare

for the day of his reckoning.

Sun pours the glass

on this side and that,

bathing the floor, pews and us

in a million different colors.

Bound on the table of sacrifice

and spread without a stitch on my body,

you circle me like a predator

eyeing his final meal.

You stop right in between my legs

and bend down to breathe in

your personal brand of oxygen;

licking, along the way,

the taste of me.

I am commanded not to quiet

my whimpers, moans or screams;

I’m warned against to keep my silence

and permitted to exhale only deafening sighs.

For today, you have decided,

is the day He learns

what true worshiping looks like;

how does an honest sinner confesses

and why this is the sweetest form of redemption.

Crawling up my body,

kissing your way through it;

there isn’t a speck of skin left

without your bloody mark on me.

Praying to my folds,

you begin your descend;

moving slow enough for Him to witness

every raw inch disappearing within

my dripping slit.

In unison we wage the Holiest of War on Him.

Pushing, pulling and arching with each stroke,

your grunts and my cries drowning

The creaking protest of his altar

and His pleading voice.

Never before had a church been baptized the way it did,

as we finally explode,

shattering every stained crystal of his home

bringing Him to Holy tears.

By Yukti Bhatnagar

89 views8 comments

Recent Posts

See All

By Diya Sood To touch a soul. What must it feel like? It seems like some are tainted. Twisted. Tortured. Agonized, even. When does it end? I'm no master. Not a sculptor, most definitely. No Michelange

By Diya Sood Misfit. Bohemian. Who art thou fleeing away from? Everything is dreary But aren't you on your way to glory? Haven't you got some time to spare? Growing older every day. Children shouldn't

By Diya Sood Exulansis– the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience; mostly because the folk are unable to relate to it. What must have felt of Icarus who If, had only waited enough, Fo

bottom of page