by Pavel Chichikov
The body flinches, not the soul.
Pick up a stone and throw
Stephen – throw and do not flinch
He let himself be killed by stones –
While Saul of Tarsus held their clothes
They crushed him – chest and face
Stripes of blood ran down his face –
Fight or run away, Stephen, requite
Your injuries – the coward would not fight
Hurt them, make them bleed and scream
Clutch their own wounds, curse, blaspheme –
He pointed to the Christ
They stoned him till they took his life
As Pilate, Judas of the knife
Killed the meek and risen One
Who can follow where He goes
Or drink the cup that overflows
With vinegar, humiliation?
So many leave Him at the place
Where stripes of blood run down the face –
Only a few women
Stay with Him until He dies
For women have no status – pride
To lose – they witness at His side
Then they wash the battered One
God's humiliated Son –
The meek and lowly women
(Click here to follow Pavel's ongoing epic poem “The Shoulder of the Sun.” You may also visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.)
