Moonchild
I held him dying in my arms
As he whispered hoarsely
‘Don’t let them forget;
Remember me
And show them how wrong
That right can be.’
In a second he was gone
His place removed
From the table.
No one would ever know
His talents or how far
His influence could have gone.
Perhaps as a physician
He would have healed thousands.
As an agrarian wizard
He might have spared Biafra
Those swollen stomachs.
He could have found the True God,
But like billions before him
He was sacrificed
By the manipulators of destiny:
The Apache chiefs on the hill,
Braves dying.
Generals in the command post,
Platoons slaughtered.
The Judas goat
And always the 300 Spartans,
The Light Brigade and Pickett’s Charge.
The shield, to be protector,
Or the death slab,
And more await
Packed in the pens of town and city
Like so much cattle
Awaiting the word of the manipulator
Clothed in the worn-out
Hole-ridden mantle of freedom
And another handshake
And another tear-stained kiss
And another ‘We’re proud of you boy.’
And another ‘You’re doing a fine job.
And another medal.
And another flag
And another and another and another …
Christian And The Tiger
Christian returned from church
Feeling worse for the experience;
Sunday!
Restless with nothing to do
Christian decided to visit the zoo.
The people there were strolling about:
Arm in arm, hand in hand, and in places
Mouth in mouth,
Black people, yellow people, white people
And children lost, crying for a policeman
As their mothers instructed.
The hippo yawned at the man in Bermudas snapping pictures;
A thin woman threw peanuts which the elephant ignored;
The zebra defecated, intensely studied by a soldier.
The reptiles were motionless:
An alligator stared mysteriously, like eyes behind sunglasses;
The monkeys were bored, except for the gorilla
Whish put a half-orange in its mouth and smiled — Sunkist
The restless cats all paced their cells
Except a tiger keeping silent vigil on the passing crowd.
Christian stood alone with the cat, saddened in its plight,
Letting remorse wash over him until …
It was even stronger than the smell from the Bengal’s cage.
Then he gripped the rail retainer and cried aloud,
‘Release the tiger! Let him be free like me.’
His voice echoed but went unheard.
The tiger, tilting its head to the left,
Spoke:
‘Weep not for me, Christian;
Know you not that we are both imprisoned?
Your cell is merely larger, with more companions;
I was once free; can you say the same, O sad one?
As you see me, so I see you:
Behind bars.
Tell me, Christian,
For which captive do you weep?’
The truth the tiger spoke
Shocked him more than the situation
So Christian left the beast to his silent vigil.
He roamed the boulevard
Window-shopping with his thoughts
Until the sun was setting.
Then, with gnawing hunger
He paced the silent steps
To his row home and supper
And the remainder of Sunday’s routine.
Back at the zoo — it was feeding time
E.J. Hudak ca. 1969
An Anthology Of Perception 