The Feast of the Holy Innocents and Other Poems

The Feast Of The Holy Innocents

"Herod perceiving that he was deluded by the wise men, was exceedingly angry; and sending forth killed all the men children that were in Bethlehem, and in all the borders thereof, from two years old and under, according to the time which he had diligently inquired of the wise men. Then was fulfilled that which was spoken by Jeremias the prophet, saying: A voice in Rama was heard, lamentation and great mourning; Rachel bewailing her children, and would not be comforted, because they are not." [Matthew 2:16-18]

once a crusade has begun
such consequences are inevitable
once the line is placed in the sand
there is no turning back when crossed:

heedless that tomorrow may never come
they play upon the dusty street
until the shrieks of laughter drown
in a crimson flash which melds with the red
that slowly seeps over the dampening soil

lifeless unclosed eyelids
pale cold outstretched hands
flaccid broken limbs
taut ashen lips
undone dreams

the mothers rush in with tear filled eyes
a chorus of voices unable to comprehend
the instant that shattered their hope and lives

they kneel in the sand
kiss the unending horror
stroke the disheveled hair
clutch the limp bodies
which had held the promise
of a future that disappeared quicker
than their sobbing exhaled breath

only women can create the universe of life
and only they truly understand the meaning
when the candle is snuffed
and no more than darkness remains

---

Along The Way To Kashmir

the haze of the horizon is cool promises entices invites us
to finish this weary journey on which we have chosen
to walk together across the wastes away from canaan

you are still beside me as you have always been
since nearly the beginning and will be until
the end of days graces us with the bliss of the forgetfulness
of life for which i have long craved since i realized
they were more interested in gratification than salvation

you though never wavered sharing both my bed and teachings
and accepting them as one and the same
you though never wavered and i watch in amazement
humbled that such love and devotion can come
from one who is born out of clay

when they nailed my soul to the tree
when i believed that all was lost and my father had deserted me
when i watched the sadness of a mother outliving her son
when they cast lots for my clothes
when they mocked me and those around me
ever you stayed and quietly accepted our fate

the others turned fled denied who i was to them and myself
the others questioned even when you came back from the tomb
to tell them that death had been defeated by faith
the others gave way to the mobs and only returned
when they deemed it safe and the sole avenue offered
for them to receive repentance for their fears

you though never wavered ignoring the taunts and doubts
of how i could forgive a past and sins that were beyond your control
you though never wavered and as i reach to gently touch your cheek
entranced by the beauty that the worries of life have etched on your face
i realize finally what true faith and love can mean when two souls unite

so allow me to carry your burden for awhile down this path
and perhaps together we can find the peace we so crave

once we reach kashmir

---

Allow Me For This One Instant

allow me for this one instant
to wipe the tears
from your mandolin eyes
and ask you in your unquiet
moment
what thoughts launched
the thousand ships of despair
in your mind

---

Somewhere

somewhere

harlots dance and throw grain into the fire
children plant seeds in the barren fields of hope
chilled winds rage from a heartbroken sea
roses wilt beneath their own tears
wolves quake before the thunder of the inevitable

somewhere

a soul burns for solace and compassion
an ancient face loses voices to the fog of memory
the endless need turns to a want for the flame of solitude
the questions unanswered are written in stone and blood
cites crumble civilizations shudder lovers tremble
       caught in the web of their own embrace

and all that remains is the dust
of these words which we write

to bury ourselves

somewhere

underneath the pale question mark of a crescent moon
that never blinks but merely offers sympathy
to those who turn their backs

and walk away into the bloodshot twilight of their years