ROCKS AND ROLLS

Rocks of ages gone, once singularly
Crushed by sweat and anguished
Sparse-rewarded toil, lie now in endless
Rows that pave the way once just
A muddied track: across the dyke,
Above the fields of inundated rice there
Moves a rag-tag band of old and young,
Of cattle, ducks and geese, and
Carts piled high with market fare;
And quatre-a-quatres*, of course,
Cocooning Tana's** wealthier elite,
While whisking them to town oblivious of the
Scents and stench of urban village life.
So when these cobbled rocks reflect,
they offer back not heat alone, nor noise
Nor rough-edged passage - nothing more -
but rather find their deep ancestral voice
That cries "It is enough! For justice
Now let Madagascar strive!"

Antananarivo
Madagascar,
April 2013

*The colloquial phrase for a 4x4 vehicle,
the equivalent of a “Chelsea Tractor”
** The local name for Antananarivo

EASTER'S EVE

Fading, the dying embers of the vigil fire,
As faltering a muttered reading of the Markan
Text precedes with trepidation the
Lighting of the Paschal candle: Christus resurrexit!
And so this flickering flame is borne aloft,
is carried through the darkened church, while
Tapers everywhere cascade their light
Proclaiming mystery and joy in counterpoint.

African rhythms pounding jubilation
Fill the air. uKrestu uwuka! Let the song be sung
And let the story resonate throughout the night!
For in the midst of poverty, of sickness,
And despair, a hope is born again, and found in
Broken bread and wine outpoured:
Uplifted faces, life's journey writ in furrows,
Reach out for sacramental hope -

And are not disappointed. For here the mystery
Of dying love meets anguished aspiration,
And memory, so often bitter recollection,
Encounters healing, life and hope in resurrection love.
And in the deepest darkness, going home,
The Milky Way erupts in exaltation, irradiating
Light and joy, and depth unfathomable, while
Toads and crickets offer harmonies of praise!

The Easter Vigil at Malosa
Diocese of Upper Shire,
Malawi,
March 2013

MALAWI ANTIPHON

Did you hear the single cicada's solemn screech,
She, gently exploring the earth, then
Gingerly leaping ahead?

Or did you hear the far-off scything
Of the grass, and sense the tiredness
In a wearied woman's hours of toil?

Did the sound of myriad little birds
Impinge your consciousness and by
Their different songs bring joy untold?

And did you feel the anger just beneath
The roadside peddler of his tourist crafts
When you perhaps, and I, declined to buy?

And did you know that this was Holy Week,
The week a peasant carpenter was stretched
To die, a simple irritant upon imperial power?

Dance to Malawi's ghetto sound, if dance you can,
Rage at injustice, however rage you may,
And dream of hope, if dreams can speak -

Then turn your words to work.


Chilema, Malosa,
Malawi
Easter 2013