🎵 Hymn “Prayer in Mortal Sickness”

Verse 1 – Address to the Immortal God
Immortal Lord, unchanging Light,
Father of Christ, the First and Last,
You alone from age to age
hold every breath that we have passed.
You did not shape us for the grave,
nor call us forth for dust and night;
You spoke our being out of naught
to live, to love, to praise Your might.

Verse 2 – Confession of our fall
Yet death we drew upon ourselves,
we chose the darkness, spurned Your word;
Adam’s fear now fills our bones,
his restless echo still is heard.
Not he alone, but all of us
have walked away from life and grace;
we loved the passing more than You
and now we tremble face to face.

Refrain 1
Have mercy, Lord of life,
remember dust that bears Your name;
do not forsake Your wounded world,
nor let us perish in our shame.
Stretch out Your healing hand,
speak to our sickness: “Peace, be still.”
Immortal Lord, remember us
and save in Your compassion’s will.

Verse 3 – Christ, the Second Adam
Your Only‑Begotten took our flesh,
the Second Adam, born to die;
He broke the iron gate of death,
He opened life that cannot die.
Yet still we wound ourselves again,
in body, mind and secret heart;
we hear His living words and yet
we turn away and stand apart.

Verse 4 – Shared grief of the world
So fathers weep without a song,
mothers cradle empty air;
children lose their guiding hands,
homes fall silent in despair.
Nations ache with nameless fear,
plague and warfare, fire and sword;
and all our sorrows rise as one
before Your throne, long‑suffering Lord.

Refrain 2
Have mercy, Lord of life,
for great Your tender mercies are;
our sins are many, but they fade
before Your love, more bright than star.
Console the grieving hearts,
return the joy that pain has crushed;
Immortal Lord, remember us,
let not our hope be turned to dust.

Verse 5 – Petition for healing and time
Spare us, O Lover of mankind,
from this untimely mortal blow;
You know that we were made for life,
for praise that endless ages know.
Grant us a little space to live,
in health to serve Your holy will;
to walk in peace and lowly tears,
in true repentance, calm and still.

Verse 6 – Prayer for the departed
And those whom sickness tore away,
Your servants fallen in the night,
receive them, Lord, and wipe their tears,
clothe them in everlasting light.
Forgive whatever they have done,
in word or deed, in thought or breath;
let them find rest in Your embrace,
beyond the sting of sin and death.

Bridge – Communion of saints
Remember Her who gave You birth,
the ever‑virgin, filled with grace;
Your holy angels robed in fire,
the saints who shine before Your face.
Through all their prayers remember us,
and bind our fear with hope above;
that in the shadow of the cross
we taste the dawn of deathless love.

Final Refrain (soft, then swelling)
Have mercy, Lord of life,
You are the One who ever lives;
to You we lift our dying days,
to You our wounded world we give.
When ends our little time,
lead us where tears shall be no more;
Immortal Lord, remember us,
in endless light for evermore.

Lalu Metev, January 8, 2026.

 

I begin in the threshold where a word is not yet born and silence still remembers its breath. I write to shape what insists on being carried forward — not as ornament, but as revealed truth. My practice moves like inner weather: shifts of memory, tenderness, and the questions that refuse to leave us. Genres are rooms of one house — poems, essays, fragments, genealogies, musical sketches — each a voice in a single resonant chord. Even silence has its essential place in that chord. I attend to the small gestures that disclose identity; to the secret bridges between private life and collective memory; to the quiet architecture of the spirit that needs no ceremony. My aim is language that opens rather than decorates — windows through which readers encounter their own inner sky. Form, conscience and intimacy guide me: introspection keeps me honest; conceptual shape grants the invisible weight; moral sensibility anchors each phrase. My professions — poet, publicist, jurist — lean together: law sharpens clarity, poetry humbles certainty, philosophy teaches listening to what is unsaid. If a single thread unites my work, it is this: to transmute vulnerability into luminous strength and to make silence a place of meaning. I am Lalu Metev — Bulgarian poet, essayist and jurist. I write to preserve what is delicate and essential in the human spirit, to follow traces of memory and dignity, and to find where the personal meets the universal. This is the path I walk; this is the voice I follow; this is the presence I offer.