I hang my head in shame.
I am forever condemned.
As a prisoner of my own indiscretion
I have forfeited my life to an
Eternity of hell.
No one can take this burden from me,
No one can release me from the chaos of darkness,
No one can ever strip away the horror of my own iniquity.
I have been tricked by my own mind
Into committing this foul and heinous crime
On the pretext of justice
Oblivious of any wretched guilt consequent to my greed.
I cannot beg forgiveness
I cannot ask for mercy.
I cannot allow any leniency or
Relaxation of the laws of clemency.
I, of all people, have allowed
That which should never have been sanctioned,
To be actioned.
I have allowed,
Knowing the colour of innocence
And the colour of guilt,
A bloodbath of torture and cruelty.
Now my hands are stained
Permanently with the slaughter of
The innocent
The kind
The just
The compassionate
The gentle
The loving
The champion of mankind.
And from this I can never hide.
There are many reasons for murder.
And every one has, at its core,
Some semblance of justification
Some sense of reasonableness
Some grotesque payment of debt.
And as an administrator of peace and political will,
I have demanded and ordered
Brutal acts of violence
To quell the discontent of the masses
In order to rule according to the sentiments of the era
And the demands of the title of kingship.
But this,
This conundrum placed before me,
This impossible, unpalatable circumstance,
This dilemma set at my feet
Which threatens the very core of my fragile control,
This distasteful, despicable obnoxious affair
Looms in front of me
Like a grotesque monster breathing into my face
Its fetid breath of noxious vapour
Demanding retribution for a crime
That does not exist.
I am comfortable here
Curled up in the armchair of my
Remorse and guilt.
Though I am thrown into the darkest abyss
Of torture chambers and horrors
No pain can be too great,
No night nor day too long,
No event can be so cataclysmic
That the Universe of evil is smashed upon my head,
For me to wish myself dislodged from this unspeakable suffering.
And with open eyes and outstretched arms
I beseech the heavens
To ensure I am immortal.
For death, even at the end of eternity
Will be too light a sentence
For the poisoned arrow of my sin.
I look into the eyes of my plaintiff.
I see the depth of his compassion.
I see the lineage of his soul
And I see the grace of God
Enveloping him in a translucent, effulgent light.
I am a man of the world.
I have lived amongst the richest and poorest of souls.
I have been graced with an intelligence and perception
Way beyond my just deserts.
I have been given the sharp cunning of the fox
And the guile of the snake.
I have been given the strength of the bear
And the perception of the eagle.
I have risen among the ranks of the generals and the nobility.
And I have paid my dues to each and every one
With favours promised behind closed doors.
I have played the game of power
With the skill and genius of the professional,
And I have relished my advancement
Unashamedly at the expense of others.
And I have always known the price to be paid for this –
Long term pain for short term gain.
And for me it has always been the victory of the moment
Which fuels the blood in my veins
And the triumphal drumbeat of my heart.
Yes, I am a man of the world
And the world of man has lain in my palm of my hand,
Mine, all mine,
Like taking candy from a baby,
As natural as the playground bully,
As effortless as the tattle-tale words of the teacher’s pet.
And each move of mine
Has been as calculated and as strategic
As the greatest army generals that ever lived,
For the purpose of immediate personal gain
Regardless of the cost to any
Unfortunate who may cross my path.
Most people would see me as cruel, heartless and uncompromising.
And in dealing with the world, I am,
For that is the game of the era in which I find myself.
And I respect the rules of this engagement.
Its a dog-eat-dog time,
Kill or be killed,
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
No quarter given nor taken.
Mercy is weakness exposed
As fodder for the adversary.
To the victor goes all the spoils,
And the vanquished lie as
Rotting carcasses in the barren
Plains of contempt.
And into the midst of this
Shark-infested ocean of corruption,
Here, amidst our battered sensibilities
And greed for self,
Into this pit of filth and betrayal,
Comes this quiet, gentle man,
Who only seeks to heal the wounded,
Broken heart of humanity,
Restore the memory of our own heritage
And remind us of the meaning of life.
I remember him.
In my dreams I have seen him.
In the recessed vaults of my memory
I have stored his image.
I had hoped to let sleeping dogs lie.
I had quelled the nagging reprimands
Prompted by his image.
I had managed to sidestep the possibility of this encounter
By being absent from my duties.
I had begun to believe in my own power.
I had managed to conveniently forget this day might ever come.
Hell bent on my own mission of destruction
I had forgotten that even the best laid plans can go awry………
And in one split second,
I am confronted by the baying masses of wolves outside my enclave,
And the pure gracious spirit before me
Of a man of God.
The story of my actions is well documented.
It would be pointless to revisit them here.
Each word, each question, each answer
Is indelibly marked in the history of mankind.
My journal of political suicide is forever exposed to the public
And in the passing of my damning judgement,
I damned myself.
This is no ordinary man.
This is not your run of the mill political pawn,
This is no murdering, plundering beast of wanton destruction.
This is no ordinary mortal reaping the reward of past indiscretions.
Here is a pure and gentle being,
Standing quiet and still in the will of his own god,
Not wishing for miracles
Which would only feed into the superstitious minds of his persecutors,
Wanting only to show his people
How to serve God, unquestioningly,
By example,
Under the most dangerous and trying of circumstances:
The sacrifice of the lover for the beloved
Encapsulated in this significant spotlight of time,
Here at my feet, in my domain.
And seeing all this, as clearly as I see the usual
Strategies of war demarcating the boundaries of my life,
I, for once, so used to betraying my conscience
For the principle of self gain,
Mistaking the wretched knot bound in the pit of my stomach
For illness instead of fear,
Wantonly throw in my lot
With the baying pack of ravenous wolves.
Cold and wretched is this space of self loathing,
Cruel is the torture of mistaking the truth for a game.
How bitter and damning is this hindsight
Of living with the knowledge that,
For all my astuteness and genius,
I missed the only chance I had in a million lifetimes
Of redemption in the sight of God.
mystic storyteller 