Tablet

As the dark cloud passed, I

in the crimson shadow of the moon

viewed the square and the streets

an octopus stretching a languid leg in every direction

toward a black swamp.

And on the cold cobblestones

a crowd stood, so many

and in the midst a prolonged aticipation

bordering on despair and weariness.

And every time the restlessness of the waiting

crept over them, it was as if

the animal shivered under his hide

from the chill of a running water

or else an itching sensation.

I descended the dark stairway

holding the dust-covered tablet in my hands

and stood upon the dais

a half-spear higher than the multitude.

And I saw the crowd, so many

filling the cells all around the square

all over the space it extended

shaped by every passageway leading to the field

up to the borders of shade and gloom

like wet ink spreading into the dark

And with them was anticipation and silence.

Then I held up the clay tablet crying unto them:

“This is all there is, and sealed

it’s an old inscrition, aged and worn, lo! behold!

however tainted with the blood of many a wound

mercy it preaches, friendship and honesty.”

The crowd, however, lent no ear or heart to me

it seemed as if in the waiting itself was pleasure and profit

I yelled out to them: “You, devoid of courage

in vain you wait, this is the very last Coming.”

And I cried out: “Gone are the days

of mourning some crucified Christ

for today every woman is another Mary

and every Mary has a Jesus upon the cross

albeit with no Crown of Thorns, no Cruciform

and no Golgotha

no Pilate, no judges and no court of justice

Christs all of a destiny, clad similarly

uniform Christs, with boots and leggings alike

alike in everything,

with the same share of bread and gruel

(for sameness is indeed the dear heritage

of the human race)

and if not a crown of thorn,

there is a helmet to wear upon the head

and if not a cross

there is a rifle to bear on the shoulder

means of greatness all at hand

every supper may well be The Last

and every glance perchance that of a Judas.

“But beware, weary not your steps

in search of the orchard

for with the tree you shall meet upon your cross

when humanity and compassion

misty as a dream, gentle and fast

will rise before your eyes,

and the savage fangs of the truth

sharp as the rays of the desert sun

will pierce your eyes.

“And you shall know how ill-starred you are

how ill-starred you are!

for the least in you would suffice

to make you most happy

a sincere salaam, a warm hand, an honset smile

And this little you had not.

“Nay, weary not your steps

in search of the orchard

for there is no time

neither for a blessing or for a curse

neither for forgiveness nor for revenge.

“And no more, alas, does the pathway to the Cross

lead to an ascent onto the heavens

but downward to hell and a perpetual wandering

of the soul.”

In my delirious fever I kept on crying

but the crowd had no ear or heart for my words

I knew that they were awaiting

not a clay tablet but a Gospel

a sword and some constables

to ambush them with whips and maces

to drop them to their knees

before the heavy steps of the one

who will descend the dark stairway

with a sword and a Gospel.

Then I wept long and hard

and my teardrops were truths

although truth is indeed no more than a word

as if with my tears

I was recounting a desperate truth.

Ah! this crowd, seeking the horrid truth

only in legends, worships the sword

as the weapon of eternal justice

for in our time the sword is a legendary tool.

And thus is called the true martyr

only he who shields his bare chest before the sword

as though suffering, agony and martyrdom

are too ancient to happen with modern warfare.

But what of all the souls burnt in the flames of gunpowder

and what of all the souls bereft of everything

but a vague shadow of a figure

in the horrifying order of millions and millions.

Ah! this crowd seeks the horrid truth

only in legends, or else considers truth

nothing but a legend.

My words the crowd ignored

for I had said the last word about the heavens

without even mentioning the word heaven.