[Crucified on my cross]
Two crosses and a half
Lay in the carpentry – wasted
Waiting for the next victim
On Pilate’s death row
Business was that bad
Not a single sale
Days, weeks and month
Wasn’t the Governor crucifying
That Barabbas, or any of his ruffians?
He’d better, or else I’ll close shop
Already I’d vowed not to make more
Until these two. And a half, are sold.
Then – a miracle happens
Jehovah answered my prayers
Pilate’s soldier rides into the carpentry
And purchases the two crosses
I smiled as we loaded them onto the chariot
Good business. Rarely did I sell two at once
“Barabbas?” I ask
No, says he, and speaks of two thieves
Who have just been condemned
Then he gleefully he orders me
To complete the half done cross
As our king would be next to hang
“Our King?” I wonder
The Roman gives a wicked grin
And shoos the horses away
And shouts as he leaves:
“Yes, King of the Jews,”
I don’t know much
About the Nazarene magician
In fact I have never seen him
Only heard of bizarre tales
About him and his gang
Spreading weird teaching
And we wondered how –
How – a mere carpenter like us;
That son of Yusuf and Miriam;
Who rode on a borrowed donkey
‘Cos he couldn’t even afford a horse;
A wizard who misled a bunch of grownups
Caused them to abandon their trade and families –
How would this guy?
Who couldn’t even hurt a fly?
A guy who told us to cowardly give the other cheek
How would such a person
Free us from Caesar’s clutches;
How could he, a homeless wanderer
Be our liberator? Our King?
But still,
But his words were not of this world
For sometimes they elated us
And other times pierced our hearts
And He gathered many followers
Dazzled by his magic
Healing the sick, and raising the dead
Multiplying fish and bread
Turning water into sweet wine
Walking on the sea and, calming the wild ocean,
But our eternal crave for turmoil and drama
Cheers of entry to Jerusalem last week
Became jeers this week
Chants of Hosanna, King of Peace
Changed curses and baying for his blood
As they demanded for the release
Of a bandit
When His day arrived
I couldn’t suppress my curiosity
Excitement at Pilate’s court was fever pitch
‘Crucify Him’ could be heard from afar
I just had to close shop and
Go and finally have a glimpse of him
But when I arrived at the court
He had already been condemned
Pilate’s jug of water, bowl and towel
Lay on the balcony dejected
I quickly dashed towards The Skull Plaza
Meeting wailing mothers
A breathless Simon of Cyrene
Recovering from the weight of the cross
– And Veronica –bowls of tears in her eyes
As she admired the Man’s likeness,
Printed on her handkerchief
In blessed blood and sweat
I hurried towards Golgotha
Only to find Him hanging
Between thieves
All the three… hanging
On the crosses I had made
I saw Him say something to the robbers
Then briefly stared at me
The rays from his eyes punctured my heart
Like the rusty nails
That went through
His hands and feet
And into the wooden
Cross that I had made
Then He cried out
“It is finished”
And the darkness and the
Earthquake in my heart
Trembled and troubled me for a while
Until I closed my carpentry
And followed the bunch of 12
To try and understand this story
Of an innocent man
Condemned and pinned
On the cross I had made
© Patrick Ngugi 270317
Inspired by Three Rusty Nails by Ronnie Bowman
