Читать книгу Stony the Road - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 22

I sat in the small apartment

observing the brown body

on a cross hung on the wall

above a television set begging

the face dripping dark tears

if it’s true the trampled who

shout up to heaven will have

life through the Galilean nailed

to a tree. I wondered for hours

about that brown body expiring

on the cross, the crime against a

human being of dark skin displayed

on a hill, a mother who cried for

her dying son, the false charges of

arrest that delivered him with

hands up to suffering and death,

how it all looks like what’s daily

going down on inner city streets.

I pondered long the tales of the

Word stooping down into middle

eastern flesh for all who need love,

the calloused men of arrogance and

greed consumed by sin, the ethically

innocent who wait for their dream

world to begin, then prayed for more

than miracles. I sat content to see

Jesus on the blistered wall, holding

in my hand the last look of the mothers

on the block who watched their kids

carried off to jail, those who walked

for hours on the streets and wanted so

badly to meet the loathed brown savior

who like so many black and brown

children meet death on a tree while

elated pale faces dance.