Vous êtes sur la page 1sur 1


A blade of grass, cut down in the sun

Rent asunder without a bother
Mowed with a slash, downed as it sprouts
Bowing in surrender, silent in the rout
Severed from its roots, sapped of its life
Ripped without reason, spilled from the phial
Like a libation, offered unto the ground
For the expiation of an offense not found
Yielding its place upon the ground; placating
Indignation based on baseless grounds

A blade of grass, glazing in the sun

Shining evermore brightly in spite of the burn
Pining not – unfaltering despite the foil
Draped in verdant glory – a flourish divine
Decked with a freshness for which men repine
With eloquence ineffable uttering these lines:
“I find my strength in surrender, yielding as I die
at the hands of man; we both fated for the ground.
Knowing victory shall return unto me in a while,
I succumb to the soil, that unsoiled arbiter who
shall redeem me unto life – taking my slayer as spoil,
making him the board upon which I root my foot,
as I rise – triumphant – unto an endless life!”

-- “Christ is Risen Indeed!”

Chukwuma Mbaeyi