Corona Christmas

twiglets embrace as thorns and flowers prickly wreath draped on a resilient head a cross road for mankind in lonesome eyes searching Golgotha for everlasting kindness betrayed forsaken for some lousy shillings sacrificed by his own father for the cause Mother Mary weeping undocumented in pain for her immaculate son conceived by God all will be for good her counsellor insisted post-traumatic stress comes out in the wash while the dirty loincloth soaked up the blood draped in ragged clouts screaming despair the nails went deep into the wry conscience shadowed in the fading sun at murky dusk as Pontius Pilate scratched his piles in vain get it over with I need rest and the bathroom this is the end of all suffering some thought as the stench of vomit and foul evacuation failed the prophesy of meeting up with Buddha no figs for Jesus only metallic taste in his mouth could have at least hanged him with a noose would have kicked away and turned the tables in a last show of resilience for sadistic killers who even took the tools of a death with dignity fast backward a few decades onto Christmas in a mangled manger and forward over time the decay of so-called glorious civilization crusades crushed peace and nuclear bombs the Holocaust and genocidal might of power famines mine fields poppies on marble tombs air raids drones destruction in the name of what star-wars self-righteous mindless devastation and yet the halo of passion and compassion stands in stark belligerent juxtaposition of passion faith unbroken belief and blessings while Santa delivers chocolates and mince pies this time corona lingers over isolated folks and all we worry about is a bloody face mask and a bit of sanitizer on squeaky clean hands perspective I need to shout brothers and sisters I lost real human beings in the crematoria my father advanced to Stalingrad and hell Mom sifted through the rubble of Dresden and I sit sheltered by a fireplace of warmth I may not decorate the tree with myrrh and candles don't savour Black Friday and the empty melodies in supermarkets and gift shops under lockdown but even an ardent atheist can see that there is a message of the story of Calvary Coventry Bagdad and the last supper with a full belly where I reside I call it blasphemy hypocrisy and self-indulgence to moan about some restraint during Covid Christmas