The Night He Died

I visualize that night as a wretched night
For the followers of the crucified master.
The Man whom they had served for so long...
How they must've wished that they could see Him;
See their master just one more time.

I see Peter, the reckless,
So dejected and apathetic losing all his enthusiasms;
And the sensitive John,
Wiping his tears away as it runs down his cheeks.

They did not know what they are supposed to do,
Where they are supposed to go
And whom they are supposed to follow anymore
But to return to their old selves.

They, who had been awfully drowsy
And tired since the night before,
Must have seen Him in their dreams
With a wake shouting, "Master!"
But the Lord was in His grave.