400 years

I

This swarm of modern savages
in yellow & red
pulling at the carriage of the black Nazarene –
Relic of faith invested on native shore
by foul-smelling & syphillitic conquistadores,
scream like madmen for miracles:
& the sacral piece of cloth
that wipes the sweat off his face & feet,
the secret chants to spare the bereaved from the evil whip
are crystalline stones on tapestry
of prayers & beliefs
because
the mind has always failed them
reason is too frail a talisman agains misfortune
logic too cold a figurehead of stone
& the presidents of the world
stay out of the circle of their pleas
We’re all back to our early beginnigs
when the rising of the moon
& the setting of the sun
spell the liminal truth
about the universe without & the universe within.
O the world is a congragation of cave dwellers.
The monkey & the astronaut seem one & the same.

II

She believes deeply in her heart
a manna of her wishes
floated down from his cross:
The law of the cosmos was suspended
on her behalf.
But the young? They flow with the tumult
of deafening despair,
holding imaginary umbrellas
turned upside down to catch a tear
from an ebony Christ.

III

If there’s respect for each other’s tradition
where neither fallacy nor truth is a precondition
why, a minority of heathens asks,
are they killing the oppositionists?

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