He took his knees unto the floor.
A dark man,
Nervous by the words of his first harvest
And his body moved like fresh grapefruits
Juicy with pips
For a First Dawn had come.
And he did sweetly breathe upon the babe’s head
And kissed its newborn eyelids,
Fallen like dark purple Lilacs of a full moon in mauve
Upon this little face
Heavy set in sleep.
He blew the breeze of his experience
Over the slight mouth of a rose bud to greet
A gentle space where the airs meet
A breath that was of Aniseed and Cloves
And all of those spices
Sent to relieve
A little soul,
Now freshly bundled,
Now freshly done.
A new son.
A father’s pride
His father’s fathers
His Grandfathers Father
Yet to come
A place in history
In anticipation of the word
As with every silent babe the moments
Chance suspends before a new statement made.
A new generation
That would and will bleed
I feel sometimes small aside the many men of Muhammed
Whose foreign verses stop me in my dirtiest tracks
And I relax there, clean for a minute
Sand on my cheeks
In the same place
Where at the same time
the Prophets name was spoken clear
to any given ear, even to mine
The baby smiled
Like every baby might smile
A purity sure to seal with the indemnity
Of a nation
These greatest acts of Faith.
I wonder about the blood
And where Mary stood
Her grief pouring in the mud
Over His feet
Caked in pain and rust
And the 2000 years of guilt
That will just never be enouh.
And I think of a prostitutes
Lips well worn and charred
Kiss His feet
And wash the visions clear
And calm the voices near
And a balm she made with love for Him
Of Lavender and Rose
And rubbed it in with sweet Almond oils
Above the din of those who would want a woman stoned
For lying with sinners
For never being sainted
Just loved from an earthly throne
This sacrifice will never be enough.
One of pain
That rakes those orange raucus metal wheels
Round again and again.
A woman’s love is never enough
She courts only a dove
As absent as the holy ghost
We deal in faery tales
There are new visions now in old dreams
Where this ball of mud
Still spins round the sun
Where we are still the same star
Where time has not begun
Nor is ending
Where we live with the same fire and die
By the same drowning
We are all born to greatness
We are all born to dream
And this year I will not grieve because
Muhammed's name made the baby smile.
And Easter brings a time that always does
Come round again