Tied to the stake
Beside the burning flames
And heavy metal pots.
I weep for thee;
Soon to be offered
As a betoken of our worship
To the Creator.
Here comes thy crucifixion,
Which takes not thy soul
But that which is flesh in thee–
For thy soul, is incapable of sniffing.
I look away,
Now that the blood–thirsty knife
Approaches thy neck;
Away, from the sight of thy juicy blood
Spilling out
Like the warm springs of hometown;
From the innocence in thy pupils
And their shutting,
Gradually, like the transition
From the bright day to dark nightfall.
Our mothers –in festive glee –
Shall make spicy broth
And we shall dip and chew –
Ourselves and neighbors too.
But you need not worry
For you died in holiness
And your blood was spilled
While your soul sailed on a course divine.
I weep not –shorn of delight
And filled with envy –
For I wish I were slain like thee,
On a path of righteous.
Good one.
I thank you on behalf of the poet.
thank you,sir princewill for stopping by.special thanks to you too,sir kukogho.without youthis certainly wouldn’t be happening.i’m grateful
And if you hadn’t done something great by writing out your thoughts, this wont happen at all…
Give it up to the poet of the future!
true that,but thanks again.
you are welcome mate