CARCASS FOR LORD

CARCASS FOR LORD
At the crack of dawn
The jelly yolk of the moon’s gradually melting
The man saddles his jackass
Out on a three-day journey to the mountain
His son fated to be carcassed for LORD
The crest of the shrine skylines in the distance
Past twists and folds of hills and ridges
Each beside the other and look like
Worshippers clustered with loyalty and zeal
Overly bound to caress the mystic sky

Along erratic terrain the troop soldiers on
Behind the bearded commander they march
On sporadic trails and through dark tunnels
Under canopies and archways of wild shrubs
Across gullies not defiled by human traffic
The bed cushioned with pebbles like gemstone
Again past a carcass defiant of furious climate
With stench gaping at the sojourners

Of a centenarian
The captain surveys and manoeuvres the trajectory
Three-day three-night bold constant momentum
The more ascent the more world he commands
His eyes overfly many villages and localities
Each notable for common design of homestead
Each notable for common phrase of homage
Common herds of domestic animals and common
Tunes of familiar songs of tilling and ploughing

Masked as pragmatic recluse the butcher treads on
Sandals polished with pure dew of Mount Moriah
The vision of hope lights the rough way
To his steady hand the fire-box and the scabbard
He puffs out his creased lips with his breath
The talent of trust overrides the real issue
Of his universe initiative comes distant second
The gullible lad trudges closely behind
Upon his shoulders yoke of fuel and the sun
His heart draped with paradox of discontent
Way out of the rite formula

On arrival the fold looks old, remote, tenacious
Their home country in a mist lies behind
In their territory to dare intruders
Obstinate hounds howl audaciously
From the scrubby crest of the mountain rays
Of the sun slant through reticulated white clouds
Fervent wind whistles through frugal vegetation
His view analyses vision beyond the mountain
He surveys the yard and levels the surface
He marks dimension and sinks four holes
Robust hands among scrubs he plants four poles
Promptly, he improvises an altar
An oblong pallet’s fastened to the poles
He frames a wooden gridiron and lays the fuel
From a water bowl he conquers his thirst
Comes to terms with the magnitude of the task
Spur of hard resolve he taps the apex of edification
Ten righteous men would’ve saved the Dead Sea

The steward positions the heir on the pallet
His face rigid and transfixed
Out of the scabbard he slips the dagger
The sun brightens and whitens the dagger
To pull away the head from the body he wedges
Hand beneath the lad’s nape and hoists up the dagger
The impact for which the body and soul part ways
The precedence for the genesis of mourning
‘…Don’t - you - kill - your - own - boy…!’
From on high occurs the echo
Behold by the LORD a ram is granted

While creeps up the twilight
From god-knows-where he overhears
Resonant echoes of sweet songs of sowing
Discernible echoes of sweet melodies of harvest.

Poet: Michael M Njoroge.