We could have been in love,
introductions got in the way.
We could have smiled,
fear got in the way.
We could have flown,
gravity got in the way.
We could have been beautiful,
appetites got in the way.
We could have made a difference,
a beginning got in the way.
We could have lived the dream,
mornings got in the way.
We could have been famous,
names got in the way.
We could have made it,
colour got in the way.
We could have been at peace,
God got in the way.
We could have created perfection,
but work got in the way.
We could have won,
economics got in the way.
We could have died,
love got in the way.
We could have been friends,
egos got in the way.
We could have been happy ever after,
but life got in the way.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Monday, July 03, 2006
The Last Words
“So, you want audience with the King, huh?”
The fat soldier’s thin friend laughed at his ready wit, relishing the look of acute discomfort on the visitor’s face. It wasn’t often that they got sport like this, trapped as they were behind their desk job. But when it happened, it was good. Only the truly helpless come knocking at these doors and they make soft targets.
Growing truculent, the fat one spat out “We have orders not to let anyone in. Now get out of here before we hand you the same fate as your King!”
The visitor didn’t seem unduly worried by the threat. (He was an old man, the lines on his face making it impossible to judge his true age. Looking at him, one only knew that he’d lived too long for his own liking) He merely reached inside the rags that served as his robe, and pulling out a piece of parchment, placed it on the table in front of the soldiers. Face up, so they could not mistake the seal on it.
One glance was enough. The fat soldier took his feet off the desk, and sat up straight, his face ashen. His thin friend was already escorting the visitor to the cells downstairs. It didn’t even occur to either of them to read the note.
The thin one was back soon enough. First he had a swallow of the glass the fat soldier had filled in his absence. Then both stared at the parchment in silence, as if wishing it away by the combined power of their fear.
“I thought he’d washed his hands off it,” the fat one finally ventured.
“Do you think they’ll release him?”
“If they do, it’ll be our heads. You weren’t there that day. The people will have his blood. Or ours.”
“I heard rumours that many were incited by a few. Do you think…”
“Shh! You think too much for your own good.”
X--------------------------------------X---------------------------------------X
The cell was small, filthy. Rust coloured stains covered the walls – reminders of the trials of others. And also served as warning to the new guests: “Countless men have been broken here, spirits crushed, futures erased. Do not think you’ll be any different. Soon, your pride will be gone, and so will all resistance. All that’ll remain, will be these four walls. And an eternity.”
Huddled in the corner, he seemed to have lived his eternity already. But had he been broken?
The visitor was there as well, the sight almost too much for him to bear. But he too, had a job to do.
He opened his mouth, but the other spoke first:
“It is done.”
Silence, as both men contemplated what was to come next. Hard as the last few days had been, the visitor knew that the worst was far from over. Finally, the visitor spoke:
“Pontius has done what was required of him. Everything is at the ready. But remember, a nation hangs on your final words. We have come this far, do not...I pray... do not fail us at the end.”
“A kingdom, not a nation. The kingdom of God.”
The visitor felt uneasy as he heard these words, escaping like life itself from the still form. A whisper, yet more than a shout. Was he, in his final moments, falling prey to his own myth?
“You know that this miracle cannot come to pass, as others have. It is outside our hands. Your last words must give a reason for this – a reason for the followers to believe. Without that, all this will have been for naught.”
The visitor paused, waiting for a reply – some sign that he understood. None came.
There was nothing more to be said. The visitor had done what he had come for. Now, it was up to God.
X--------------------------------------X--------------------------------------X
The next day, the visitor joined the carnival. There was no other word to describe it. He winced as he saw the enthusiastic crowd milling about, waiting for a man to die. Housework was put aside in favour of endless debate on whether he would beg for mercy in his last moments, or die in the same silence with which he had borne his trial. School was forgotten as the young ones ran alongside their elders, boasting how they would have shown their courage in the same situation.
One good man’s life for a million saved. It seemed a fair enough bargain. And yet, the visitor wasn’t sure anymore.
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
It was done. The visitor turned back, away from the crowd waiting for an encore. It was done. The faith would live on. The endless debates, theories & counter-theories about why the promised miracle didn’t happen would see to it. As long as there’s room for doubt, there’s room for faith. And so, a nation would be built from the ashes of another.
But as he walked away, he couldn’t help wondering, ‘and what about the Kingdom?’
The fat soldier’s thin friend laughed at his ready wit, relishing the look of acute discomfort on the visitor’s face. It wasn’t often that they got sport like this, trapped as they were behind their desk job. But when it happened, it was good. Only the truly helpless come knocking at these doors and they make soft targets.
Growing truculent, the fat one spat out “We have orders not to let anyone in. Now get out of here before we hand you the same fate as your King!”
The visitor didn’t seem unduly worried by the threat. (He was an old man, the lines on his face making it impossible to judge his true age. Looking at him, one only knew that he’d lived too long for his own liking) He merely reached inside the rags that served as his robe, and pulling out a piece of parchment, placed it on the table in front of the soldiers. Face up, so they could not mistake the seal on it.
One glance was enough. The fat soldier took his feet off the desk, and sat up straight, his face ashen. His thin friend was already escorting the visitor to the cells downstairs. It didn’t even occur to either of them to read the note.
The thin one was back soon enough. First he had a swallow of the glass the fat soldier had filled in his absence. Then both stared at the parchment in silence, as if wishing it away by the combined power of their fear.
“I thought he’d washed his hands off it,” the fat one finally ventured.
“Do you think they’ll release him?”
“If they do, it’ll be our heads. You weren’t there that day. The people will have his blood. Or ours.”
“I heard rumours that many were incited by a few. Do you think…”
“Shh! You think too much for your own good.”
X--------------------------------------X---------------------------------------X
The cell was small, filthy. Rust coloured stains covered the walls – reminders of the trials of others. And also served as warning to the new guests: “Countless men have been broken here, spirits crushed, futures erased. Do not think you’ll be any different. Soon, your pride will be gone, and so will all resistance. All that’ll remain, will be these four walls. And an eternity.”
Huddled in the corner, he seemed to have lived his eternity already. But had he been broken?
The visitor was there as well, the sight almost too much for him to bear. But he too, had a job to do.
He opened his mouth, but the other spoke first:
“It is done.”
Silence, as both men contemplated what was to come next. Hard as the last few days had been, the visitor knew that the worst was far from over. Finally, the visitor spoke:
“Pontius has done what was required of him. Everything is at the ready. But remember, a nation hangs on your final words. We have come this far, do not...I pray... do not fail us at the end.”
“A kingdom, not a nation. The kingdom of God.”
The visitor felt uneasy as he heard these words, escaping like life itself from the still form. A whisper, yet more than a shout. Was he, in his final moments, falling prey to his own myth?
“You know that this miracle cannot come to pass, as others have. It is outside our hands. Your last words must give a reason for this – a reason for the followers to believe. Without that, all this will have been for naught.”
The visitor paused, waiting for a reply – some sign that he understood. None came.
There was nothing more to be said. The visitor had done what he had come for. Now, it was up to God.
X--------------------------------------X--------------------------------------X
The next day, the visitor joined the carnival. There was no other word to describe it. He winced as he saw the enthusiastic crowd milling about, waiting for a man to die. Housework was put aside in favour of endless debate on whether he would beg for mercy in his last moments, or die in the same silence with which he had borne his trial. School was forgotten as the young ones ran alongside their elders, boasting how they would have shown their courage in the same situation.
One good man’s life for a million saved. It seemed a fair enough bargain. And yet, the visitor wasn’t sure anymore.
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
It was done. The visitor turned back, away from the crowd waiting for an encore. It was done. The faith would live on. The endless debates, theories & counter-theories about why the promised miracle didn’t happen would see to it. As long as there’s room for doubt, there’s room for faith. And so, a nation would be built from the ashes of another.
But as he walked away, he couldn’t help wondering, ‘and what about the Kingdom?’
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