The Word was born to reveal love’s Silence,
And heal the tyrannical mind of violence.
The Ancient One came in the black of night;
By dawn, he was lost to our longing sight.
He was abandoned on that hill of pain,
Left for the wind to share his sighs of pain.
One held by his open arms would not leave;
She kept him company as did the thieves.
Love washed his body and hid him away:
He would rise in her arms on the third day.
The Roman cross consumed his memory,
But the Christ lived to gainsay history.
Darvish says the Word is wondrous mercy,
That heals the mind of infinite cruelty.
