My Own Book of Job

 Illustration from Book of Job by William Blake

I spoke to god the other day,
as to my window he made his way.
Pattering wildly on the pane,
in small droplets of rain.
One drop two drops and three more drops,
a tired face of an old man it was.
A steam of smoke rose as he sighed,
shook his head, and closed his eyes.

Hey you! I wildly cried,
welling tears i tried to hide.
Go back to your heaven,
to your safest haven!
Sit high and mighty on your throne,
while your world reaps what you have sown.

There, there, you, he said,
I’m old and weary and good as dead.
Few believers I have, left in hand,
the rest of you, my ways have banned.
I turned my back on you a long time ago,
your pleas I ignored, I laughed at your woe.

Look around you! I managed a smirk,
look at what has become of your work.
Making merry in your heaven were you not?
when by a crafty nature this world was bought.
I knew you were there, up there, somewhere,
when darkest of wars was upon us declared.

I ask not for your forgiveness, he sighed,
nor for your kindest words I pine.
I was young and foolish, and bored I was,
to resurrect the beast for mirth was the cause.
little did I know that his sinew was ten fold,
and a twenty his brilliance, to which I was sold.

you left us to butcher and be butchered I wept,
you enjoyed your wine, while thirsty we slept.
We were the ones who, each day prayed,
waiting for you, our saviour, we never swayed.
Until the day when all was lost,
when disease and war and darkness was cast.
When innocent mothers were but seized,
with black rage, smothered their infants aye! they did.
When dearest of friends slaughtered one another,
for miserly gains and for that hunger for power.
When families festered from within,
and carnal passions drove them into sin.
When diseases became an incurable spite,
when malignant evil ate us from inside.

I beseech you! stop your rant he bellowed,
I come not to hear the evils I bestowed.
Upon you and your kind, my lost kingdom,
for, amends I cannot make since the worst is done.
Despise me, loathe me, spite me if you must,
but hope, there is, if you still know how to trust.
What’s done thus cannot be undone,
to renew your faith you must but learn.
The victory of darkness over light shall persist,
the triumph of evil over good shall exist.
If you but clamour and grumble and groan,
instead of finding a way to stand against this storm.
aye! the very storm I raised for thee,
in the foolish pursuit to test my own creed.

Thus to the hellion I sold my soul he cried,
the pleas and love from my children I denied.
I cannot be saved but then, shall you,
of this I assure you, as I bid adieu.

With a mighty thunder, raged on the rain,
with a fury of thousand knives my remonstrance was slain.
The face on the pane I watched as it dissolved,
and from his rue he was thus absolved.
I watched on until i could see nothing at all,
then  to the altar I went and lit a candle.

2 Responses to “My Own Book of Job”

  • sulekha says:

    Yoshay, This is such a powerful and moving poem. I loved the dialogue between man and god and the lighting of the candle is the most fitting climax to this spellbinding poem.

  • Kriti says:

    Awesome literature Yoshay! It is befitting how you manage to bring out the love and trust in faith as you show your anger and bewilderment at our state… It absolutely brilliant!

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Yoshay Lama

I welcome you warmly to my blog. This is the resting place of most of my creative work. This blog consists of book reviews, articles, poems, mere reflections and excerpts from my stories.

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