Gethsemane

An old olive oil press, rusting at the bottom of a sandy garden

in an occupied territory.

A man lying prostrate,

on the red soil,

murmuring

about a weight, a burden, something lifted,

a cup taken from him.

We disciples could not hear clearly,

what with the muffled explosions

and such and such.

This man, this man, he screamed out: 

'NOT AS I WILL BUT AS YOU WILL FATHER!’.

But there was no older man there,

no father, nothing like.

Was this man drunk?

I do not think so.

But he may have drunk some wine

recently, at his last supper,

I guess.

 

Silence - a pause in the battle,

I hear the cock crow

three times:

faraway, strange: sunset, not sunrise

but the roosters and even the hens

had been eaten, long ago

what with the siege 

and the starvation and the dreadful silence

I don't know, there's no end to it

is there?