Crucifixion

How piercing is the Word that slid on down
Along the bloody incisions of the sunset's hue!
And once again, a lonely cypress, dark and crowned,
Divides the real to "now" and "then" anew.

And once again – the crosses climbing towards the sky,
The lampads burning in the field's expanse,
The pages we have yet to open, you and I,
Of pain stretched out for centuries, by chance.

In this life, I return here once again,
Beneath the tent of fading, darkening blue,
Where years like teardrops made of blood seep from the plain –
The silent exhalations of the Desert's view.

And, gently caressed by tragedy's soft breath,
I'll pray now to the bread that was broke and shared,
By golden rays of the Evening Star, beneath
Which to the sleepy sky I am nailed and bared.

He gave to me with Him almost no thing –
No parables, advice, or learned lore,
Just a flickering gaze, when His eyes' suffering
Began to melt in death's fog evermore.

The world stood still, a-tremor, like a bush burned dry,
When quietly, a razor on the skin –
A Word flowed out from human lips, a cry:
«My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken Him?!…»