Dust from fleeing horses
as they leap into the shadow
of the hills I have looked to for help
A thief this night forced
open my stable doors
and to the ground brought my walls and fences
Now with empty words
my lips turn to silence
It wasn’t fire but my own hands that had encompassed me.
“Did the nails,
stained by your blood;
still holding bits of your flesh;
sounding notes from hammer blows;
Did the rough cut wood,
bed for your final rest;
cradle for the crucified;
once soaked for mercy,
ever succumb to rot?
Did the rocks,
hewen out to carry someone else,
rejoice as they laid your body –
their sculptor broken –
awaiting his awakening,
I busied myself with a measuring line;
chiseling stones for the wall.
high and thick I made it,
then sitting silently within,
I missed the wind.
Plundered I look to you:
My fortress and shield.
© Denis Adide 2015
“Alas for those who go down to Egypt for help
and who rely on horses,
who trust in chariots because they are many
and in horsemen because they are very strong,
but do not look to the Holy One of Israel
or consult the Lord!
The Egyptians are human, and not God;
their horses are flesh, and not spirit.
When the Lord stretches out his hand,
the helper will stumble, and the one helped will fall,
and they will all perish together.”
Isaiah 31:1 & 3
“This people honors me with their lips,
but their hearts are far from me;
in vain do they worship me,
teaching human precepts as doctrines.”