DIE IN A SONG, LIVE IN A POEM
After he was held- and judged;
They set him ablaze. I watched
As the juice of his skin
Lost its valor to the heat.
I saw songs die on his lips
I saw hope hum a sorrowful dirge- in the fire.
After they had turned him to ash-
his bones was made chalk and
his dried blood re-hydrated into ink.
I strolled away, a smile tucked on my lips- a knowingness that…
though my body was turned to ash;
my poetry was stuck to earth.
Here is a new song- from
the embers of my burning soul.
I fly free.
He showed them wounds- akin to
Christ’s: on his face and arms.
Disbelieve clouded their sights.
No one wanted to believe that
A poet dead to their world could attain transmogrification;
That a string-less lyre could strum
A song so sweet- again.
So I waited till the day of ascension…
And while the stared into the skies;
I took hold of his cloak and lyre.
I have them here: the totems of Elijah.
No staff, but the broken harpsichord.
I’ll teach my children the lyric of the olden.
I’ll make it their heart-song.
The dead flute had taken to wings- in flight
In the skies of minors- with kites
To exterminate his voice-
stuck in tune
When the caught hold of the urn
That held his sacred ash and chalk
Scattering his dust to the four winds
The birds heard the ashes sing
The birds learnt from the dust-
in the wind.
I play for them every morn-
A muse taught tweet
A dirge with the broken harpsichord
The tune of dying hummingbirds
A song for the interminable bard’s voice.
We shall sing free.
©Poet Razon-Anny Justin
“Die in a Song; Live in a Poem”,