Blow, through palm leaves and light the fire,
Reduce to dust, green vines of dour ages gone,
And trace with thumb on sojourners forehead,
Loves lasting seal of new life gained.
In praise first used, a stirring welcome,
By peoples gathered, to acclaim their King.
In a few short days, a forgotten triumph,
Now for a cross the people sing.
Turned outside, black mark the signal,
Laughter and ridicule but not knowing why.
Pride and shame, now intermingled,
Release the silent voice, now growing inside.
How this change from dusk to nightfall?
Sun lights retreat all but complete.
And on the hillside, my guilt and burdens,
Are all consumed by long nights defeat.
‘Other’ terrain now left to travel,
Path of rocks and thorns along the way,
I seek the good earth, my plough to furrow,
And tears to be mixed in the play.
Karol Grobicki (North West) March 2023