Freedom

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After a longtime I experimented with crayons. Although the evenness of colors is missing, crayons possess a life of their own in comparison to pencils and water colors. The disadvantage, of course, is one wrong shade; you won’t have the opportunity to remedy but to begin all over on a fresh page.

Blood on Golgotha

The white ball of fire
Set the desolate land ablaze
Sweat trickling down
He walked the crowded maze
Streets stood empty
Shops, deserted
Men in robes evinced no pity
As he struggled to make the last mile

Scorching afternoon air
Cut into his wounds
A mother screamed, “Unfair!”
While the ground beneath moaned.
Cruel judgment
A trusted friend’s treachery
Powers of firmament
Indeed, stood all in diabolic conspiracy

Thorns for a crown
Nails instead of king’s rings
He took the shame
Never dodging scourges that sting
Finally, when he finished life’s journey
On Golgotha, he hung on a tree
Laying the course for destiny
That would see vilest of sinners free

Indeed. His death was not defeat but victory