Jesus’ Diary: From Death To Resurrection

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I

Feast of Unleavened Bread, yet

My mind is troubled, Passover beckoning

My death carefully plotted, finer details    drawn

I am in Bethany but my death is nigh

I see the Twelve, I throw the comment:

“I tell you the truth, one of you will betray me”

Deny they do, even Judas, saith he:

“Surely not I, Rabbi?”

The Thirty silver coins I saw

 Them in my spirit, I need no

            Grandstanding

                                    II

            Mount of Olives, I throw a punch line to Peter:

            “This very night, before the cock crows, you will

            Disown me three times”

            And like Judas, saith he:

            “Even if I have to die with you,

 I will never disown you”

I don’t reply, I need no

Grandstanding

                        III

Gethsemane, My spirit troubled

I tag along Peter and Zebedee’s two sons

Never felt so dejected like this

My heart is like cumulonimbus circling

Spiraling round and round, hazy and dazed

Sorrow fills me, my heart is weeping

My mind is like a city besieged, my heart is

Heavy it could slip down Mount Olives

Yet, when the Son of Man in anguish He

Agonizes, the Disciples’ eyes are heavy

With sleep, O Gethsemane, what sorrow

Do you cloak in this sad night?

What sleep should you send

For my disciples to shut from my affliction?

Ticking time, my death is nigh!

                        IV

The Betrayer’s Kiss, what a lovely sight

Judas drawing near me, saying:

“Greetings, Rabbi!”

What of “Surely, Not I Rabbi?”

It is the prophesy, though

Somehow Judas was ordained

After the kiss, now why the swords

And clubs? Which resistance did I spawn

If all my times I was in the Synagogues

And temple courts, a Rabbi?

One of the Twelve chops an ear

I undo it with as much grace

If I could, I would have flipped a sword

And chopped off a dozen pair of ears

But my glory lies in my death

                        V

Sanhedrin, before Caiaphas

Trumped up charges, inadmissible evidence

Coached-up witnesses, biased trial

Uncodified offence, humiliation

Where is justice? What is my offence?

I look on, I keep silent

Upon the charge of blasphemy

I am most inclined to say,

“But I say to all of you:

In the future you will

See the Son of Man sitting

At the right hand of the

Mighty One and coming on

The clouds of heaven”

Most displeased, Caiaphas

Tears his garment, shouting

“Blasphemer! Blasphemer!”

I am spat on, my dignity

Is shredded lower than that of

The city’s lowest leper

Something in me wants to

Lift up to prove Me

But the prophesy has to be

Fulfilled

            VI

Two quick acts, Peter disowns me

Three times before the cock crowed

And Judas, in a grip of remorse and suicide,

Hangs himself

O Peter, O Judas,

I needed no grandstanding

It had to come to pass

While I am most remorse for this

The prophesy had to be

Fulfilled

VII

            I am before Pilate, being a Feast,

            He poses:

            “Which one do you want me to release

            To you: Barabbas, or Jesus who is called

Christ?”

And what do I hear?

Impassioned plea, a ranting chant

“Barabbas!” “Barabbas!” “Barabbas!”

Barabbas be released

And me?

An even more impassioned plea

“Crucify him!” “Crucify him!”

These same people I walked with

In Bethlehem, Jerusalem, Tiberia

In the synagogues and temples

Healing them, feeding them,

Teaching them—to be crucified!

In Praetorium, I am crowned with thorns

Spat on, robbed of my robes

And called, “Hail, King of the Jews!”

My death is nigh

VIII

            Golgotha, the Place of the Skull,

            This is the moment, this is it

            Never felt so much pain, the whiplashes

            The cross’s burden, the mockery

            Ninth hour I draw air into my lungs

            Then cry: “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?”

            “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

            I breathe my last, temple’s curtain rips,

            Earth shakes, graves break open

            In my throes of death, I gesture

            That I am Son of God, not for glory

            For what use does it serve when I die?

                                    IX

            Had Joseph of Arimathea had the faintest clue

            That I would resurrect, then he wouldn’t bury my

Body, but what evidence would man have had of

My resurrection?

Third day I rise, I rise from death

Mankind, my death be not in vain

I died so that you live, live by my teachings

C) Lorot Salem 2011