Bread

Bake me, Lord, like a wheat spike

under the hot light of Your most holy summer!

Let the sweltering heat flow over me! A river

of scorching heat bless me!

And, when dusk comes over me, for the last time,

reap me, You, with Your most holy palms,

and mysteriously place me between millstones

to grind my most unholy flesh well!

And be You, good Father, the gentle Miller

Who takes care even of the bare bran!

And sift me, white flour, flowing

from the vessel from which even the dead rise.

And then work me into dough,

so that You may make me heavenly leaven!

And bake from me a small prosphora

and give me to the hungry who perish from longing for You!

Alina Mirică

Photograph by Xenia Маrкоvа / pexels.com