When during the last week he travelled,
He entered Yerushalayim,
They thundered “hosannas” and scrambled
To run with their twigs after him.
Then harder and grimmer were faces;
No love could bring hearts to relent.
Contempt in their features and gazes
Meant one thing — post scriptum, the end.
The lead of the heaven came sliding
And lay on the backyards in flux.
The Pharisees scurried fact-finding
And whirled around him like a fox.
Dark forces that lodged in the temple
Dispatched him to scumbags for trial.
Though praising before, they assembled
As blindly to curse and defile.
The mob in the next-door enclosure
Took peeks through the gate in the court,
And anxiously waited for closure,
And listlessly plied back and forth.
Their whispers grew looser than wildwood,
And rumors welled up like a stream.
The flight into Egypt and childhood
Came back as a faraway dream.
The desert and glorious mountain
Came hauntingly back and the height
Where Satan had finally found him
To tempt with imperial might.
And Cana came back and the wedded,
His miracle witnessed firsthand,
The fog by the sea where he treaded
On water as others on land.
The hut of the poor in assembly,
The candle that lit their descent,
The vault where the flame blew out trembling
When someone arose from the dead…