This is a slightly revised version of a poem published by Parousia Magazine in 2018. We thought to share this with you in the spirit of Easter. Enjoy this sizzling Easter poem!

Stuck in the throat of the wind

is a song, a dirge for Golgotha:

where Mary’s eyes, like this poem

became drip lines;

Where Peter wished

he could resuscitate the three crows

which died in the beak of a cock;

Where Judas stood,

haunted by the ghost

of his murdered conscience- 

as it whistled in his pocket,

singing a naked song (stripped of

its beats) like this one: “you too,

Judas, will be killed with a plate

of poisoned kisses;

the same way those nails &hammers

showed no respect for a carpenter’s son.”

The Master was sent off soaked with blood

& spittle & phlegm & tears

Farewell songs brewed in broken hearts:

Mary’s, Martha’s & Lazarus’

sandwiched between.

The Master arrived the streets

of the afterlife, Death received him proudly

like a new captive, an extra feather in its cap

but the Master rose on the petals of the Easter morn,

leaving a note for the proud captor,

“Oh Death, where is thy sting?”

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