Monday, April 11, 2005

Third visit to an annual wake

The church is as still
as the celebrated corpse
Dimly lighted by static candles,
it hides its guardiansand angels,
blinding them with royal purple satin
And every living face it houses
streaks of sadness and remorse
THE CHIRST IS DEAD, yet again
and his body lies in front of the altar
three meters from the golden retablo,
two thousand years and more after his death.
He rests in a coffin of hot glass,
his flesh of cement and paint
veiled in white lace
and wreathed with paper flowers
Nuns, like relatives sit by him,
three pews from where I look
and wonder and ponder
why these morners in line
and in party clothes mourn.
Why these mourners mourn
for the handcrafted divine
Why they mourn inside this church
and revel in the plaza
with exuberance in merchandise and song
Why they mourn for the dead statue
they know is bound to wake up
in three days to fulfill its promise
and fill their tables with colorful food
and roasted pigs and fat chickens
and bottles and bottles of beer.

-RUSS (http://readruss.blogspot.com)

Posted by inktrip at 4:20 PM

Comments:
i, personally, don't like that day. when they say that Christ is dead. some traditions just need to dissipate.
# posted by Anonymous Anonymous : 8:25 PM
 
Post a Comment