Oasis
That summer the sun was so harsh
that the brittle carpet of greying leaves
were turning to pits of azure ash.
We waited for the mellow sea-breeze
to whistle in memories of monsoon, as we
swarmed the steamy nights to sleep.
In the chapel, the bells rasped with prayer
Our Latin figments of ora pro no vis
at Mary’s womb, from whom the village had spawned.
When the festoons of annual feast were ground
to char, along the hot red-brick earth beside
the Church, our last agonies to Her were spent.
Outside, the fields were mourning with our sticky tears,
the awning wells were suckled off their moisture,
the trees were falling asleep to still-born noons
and the hungry sand bit our feet like an iron-smith’s hearth.
We were drying up like the washing over huckleberry thorn.
Father said if this went on we would have to leave.
The city breathed at us through its black-coke spires
tar broke at every step from the sun’s merciless glare
gasping vehicles burst upon the shallow air with grease and fume
the teacher in the school turned our attention to the plume.
Still the fires of our worries stung our blue-pickled notes
For, it was only mother who was left to fill our water ration.
But there was such spirit within her soul, so she never showed
to what extent she went to keep us smiling and whole.
Communion
That Sunday before lent, the sound of my catechism
had convinced the priest that I was ripe
to receive Jesus Christ in my life.
It was time to turn out old adages through the cat-flap
of my mind, the anxiety that sinfulness would be seen
through the bifocals of the Holy See.
He received me with a benevolent nod, as I kissed
his deep-blood ruby, my pale face lit from the candle
festooned for my own incandescence.
Innocence lay among the lilies of my silken shirt.
Suddenly, I was touched by a light so solid
that it shown through my eyes.
But it was merely a stroke of lightning.
God’s word wrote on Moses’ sheet-hewn stone
below, the world kept pace with its
urban ramblings.
Great work
LikeLike
Too good .. deep
LikeLike