Saturday 23 September 2017

Feeding Big Man

Once upon a time, there was a village near the river
like other villages, but in this village was a man - taller
than everyone else. Jolly and bright, an optimist who
could build huts, plough fields, catch fish too.

With each passing day the man grew more confident
and villagers  more adoring and complacent
forgetting their skills they focused on worship
invested in hope, their eyes looking up.

So in awe of Big Man they planned how and when
to feed, wash and clothe him,  elected chairmen
who instructed the villagers of their duty
to keep Big Man strong and beefy.

Soon got so big he couldn't leave his house
stuck behind the door, fearful chairmen marched
up and down the streets in a solemn search for
answers now that folk were retired, poor

keeping Big Man in style and manner to which
he'd become accustomed, his appetite large and rich
too big for his humble home, he demanded more
– a castle or a mansion, while the villagers bore

the cost with their labour, health, and their virgin
daughters, crushed under weight of his lust, his sin
but what could they do? It was tradition, his right
until a child crept with courage to the castle at night

to speak with Big Man, to plead and to show him
how poor the villagers were, their lives so grim
her last feint hope for reason and compassion
and he wept, overcome with guilt he thanked the maiden

promised to create a village based on fairness, equality
and when the girl ran home to tell her kin they were happy
but the chairmen were outraged and charged that girl
with treason, called her wicked, wanton and evil

to go above her station, above their counsel, to enter
the sacred castle of  Big Man, so they banished her
they will save the village,  bring them wealth
stealing from neighbours with arrows, with stealth.

Forgetting their hunger they painted their faces
thumping their chests they mounted wild horses
charging the commons, the forests, the rivers
killing their innocent neighbourly sleepers

no blood was enough to fill up this story
no more was the Big Man the object of glory
filled with ambition the warriors planned
campaigns everywhere, let peace be damned

Big Man and chairmen were sacked and replaced
with new gods, their history censored, erased
forgetting their skills as fishers and builders
as lovers and fathers, as farmers and brothers

and so dear reader don't look for an ending
this tale of a village breaking and bending
there is never an end to the battles and wars
as long as the mind gets stuck on the scores

of winners and losers and what is worth saving.



2 comments:

  1. Good "Once upon a time . . ." story!

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  2. This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

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