Bheek

A Poem by Kavi Bhakti

Off the high table

Starved, you staggered
to the palace gate.
To beg but a crust.

And the cross -
cold ,hard,
unyielding –
was pressed
to your lips.

Parched, you crawled
to the feet of the throne.
Craving just a drop.

And was drenched
in that shower of sacrament.

Did Charity cease…
Or
Was Love ever …

…Would that I could
but flay this flesh,
and choke
on the bile
of bitter tears.