Blood Shekel:
The Orthodox
Root.
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A little mockingbird whispered to me
That humans are being turned into notes―
That no longer are the forest woods
sufficient to make the mints.
"The hunters hunt us no more,
Now they are the hunted."
The little bird cried out to me:
"Run! Lest they make of you a constructed Jesus,
And exchange you for thirty pieces of silver,
Like Judas: father of the blood shekel.
The Judas have evolved and are hungry―
And thirsty for blood.
Soon, they will hook on you a price tag
and sell you to the chief priests.
Then, it was thirty silver pieces,
Now, how much would be the blood shekel?―
the betrayer's prize.
Cannibals! This is what has become of your people!
Run! Lest your rainbow coat be torn in rags,
And you be thrown in an endless pit."
These were the orthodox words
of the little mockingbird.
As I made to run,
I felt no limbs,
I felt no fleshy form.
I had disintegrated into notes.
YOU ARE READING
Tanka told on a Blue-mooned Night.
PoetryA collection of poems, that subtly explore a couple of controversial themes. This work is written through the eyes and engraved in the ink of the author, who sees herself as an unmasked, mystical sailor-sailing across controver-seas. She tells her s...
