Pluma at Papel

Poetry | We’ll Pray No More At Gethsemane

New poem on the Holy Week from the veteran committed writer.

no more we’ll walk kneeling
at the foot of the mount of olives
no more we’ll pray at the garden of gethsemane
near the brook of kedron
we’ve been lashed repeatedly
by the centurions of the state.
while prostrate on the ground
they violently kicked us
even expectorated on us
we’ve been made to swallow
their stinking holy bread
from the pungent toilet bowl
we’ve been forced to drink
yellowish holy water
from the murderer’s gallbladder
some of us were cemented in drums
and let the sea swallow us
beheading even a few of us
and our detached heads
were kicked like balls
rolling down the mountain slopes
because we’ve been preaching the truths
to the oppressed, downtrodden class
and vigorously we keep on fighting
for the sacred progress and freedom
of our exploited beloved land.

we’;ll pray no more
at the garden of gethsemane
though our umbrellas are the swaying leaves
of the praying olive trees
firmly standing still
after so many hurricanes
after so many masses and rituals
of deceiving pharisees
though nine hundred years had past
at the calm garden of gethsemane
we’ll no more stare at and talk to
the stars on the ashen serene sky
we’ll pray no more
at the garden of gethsemane
venerated even by the crystal tears
of the brook of kedron
repeatedly we’ve recited the rosary
inside the bellies of gigantic temples
we’ve genuflected before the altar
of so many wooden sedentary saints
even took our communions
on holidays and sundays
offered hosannas to one merciful god
yet year after year after year
we’ve been carrying on our shoulders
a cross as heavy as the world
while patiently trekking our path
toward our calvary of broken skulls

yes, we’ll pray no more
at the garden of gethsemane
near the heart of kedron
we’ll no more rest our backs
on the old sturdy olive trees
we’ve been repeatedly nailed
on numerous holy weeks
on our cross of sorrows and despair
we’ve died for so many times
but reincarnated again and again
because gyrating are our hopes
on the screen of our eyes
because our ideology of love
keeps marching on and on
its cadences hoping to silence
the shouts of injustices
its rebellious rumbling sounds
will be exploding bombs
desiring to destroy to smitterens
society’s inequalities.
yes, the few demigods
of injustices and greed
will soon be buried
on the hills of broken skulls
their blood will oveflow
on the crystal-clear brook of kedron
to finally submerge and drown
the golgotha of the poor!