Sunday, 27 November 2011

Cupid of the Underworld

And now for something completely different. This is a poem from the vaults: a poem about the redemptive power of suffering, with an anti-war counterpoint. Then again, maybe it's just about a rather fetching lady with a bow and arrow. Whichever you prefer:

Redeemer - my killer, my victim - pale Archeress

Cupid of the Underworld

Draw taut the silken sinews of your hand.
Could drops of pity foil perfection's aim?
Your bow smiles to see its prey unmanned -
an arrow flies - the killer bears no blame.

Somewhere in a desert stands a man,
about to move his finger. Blood tastes the same
in every clime - from London to Afghanistan -
a bullet flies - the killer bears no blame.

Like Zeno's arrow spinning in eternal flight,
my mind retraces time to whence it came:
You live in darkness, hunt by moonlit night
and guiltlessly you smile but bear the blame

for every cruel cut this world endures,
for which injustice there is one redress:
the poisoned barb that breaks my skin is yours;
redeemer - my killer, my victim - pale Archeress.