Pieces of wood,
broken and burnt,
stained with blood of family,
derelict in the smouldering heap.
The smell of death
in dusty roads,
sounds of weeping,
darkness and gloom.
Pieces of wood
pierce the wounded side,
lightning and thunder,
shots of gunfire,
rending cries of
mothers and daughters
in the sleepless houses
waiting for the first light.
My God, my God, why have you abandoned us?
why have you forgotten us,
forsaken us?
Cry rage and revenge,
slaughter and destruction.
How long will this be,
terror in the faces of children,
hatred and fear,
over a wilderness of shacks,
the other side of the city wall,
longing for peace?
My God, my God, why have you abandoned us?
why have you forgotten us,
forsaken us?
Come,
let us carry these pieces of wood,
once part of the same ancient tree
used to build houses, proud and sturdy,
now charred ruins of dwelling places,
scattered and aloof.
Bind piece with piece
to build one cross.
Cross of Bhambayi
shelter me,
hide me from the
pain and agony
as the blood,
like justice,
flows from the cross.
From the soil
sprouts a new year of freedom and healing
for captives
maimed in body and
maimed in hope.
Sacred mystery
on the holy ground,
tree of redemption,
the flowering tree which withers
and blossoms again
from Eden to Calvary
to Easter . . .
to Bhambayi . . .
Devarkshanam Betty Govinden, South African academic, author and poet
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Together as one body, Christ reconciled both groups to God
by means of his death on the cross,
and our hostility toward each other was put to death.
prayer & verse 