A reflection on 1 Corinthians 13.
Love is complex, love’s confused
Illness caused by alcohol, abused
You’re hardly the ‘deserving poor’
But who cares – death is at the door.
Love is impatient (Paul: sorry, mate)
Waiting for hours, blood to donate
None else willing, I feel frustration
At this superstitious, selfish nation.
Love can, at times, be quite unkind
You asked for water, my teeth I did grind
For your dry throat, my emotions are hollow
‘tis the doctors orders, I must follow.
Love, in the truth, doesn’t always rejoice,
Your son asked me to quiet my voice
He didn’t want you to know you’d ruptured a vein
He thought that a lie would save you some pain.
Love sometimes doesn’t know what it believes.
Straight after surgery, for Namaz your son leaves.
Is your religion a chain, heavily binding?
Or is it God’s peace you’re seeking and finding?
Love does, painfully often, fail
– ask any widow, hear her wail.
Shit keeps happening, try as we might;
but that’s no excuse to give up the fight.
My love is not perfect, this I know
But seeing your need, I can’t say no.
Through my weakness, I’ll keep trying my best
And praying for faith to trust God for the rest.
My friend Imran passed away with pancreatitis and chronic liver issues shortly after I wrote this poem.
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