Electric Shock Of Faith

Electric Shock Of Faith
© Surazeus
2023 07 11

Alone in the wheatfield of feasting tables, 
white tablecloths whipping in frantic wind, 
Zuzanna cries out to the burning sky 
while the blue raven lands on empty chair 
and pecks at crumbs from the stale loaf of bread 
dripping with blood that fountains from her heart. 

Nine Nazi soldiers in green uniforms 
surround the woman in torn yellow dress, 
that flutters in wild frantic wind of hope, 
and aim their rifles at her glowing face 
while she feeds the blue raven her torn heart 
whose wings glisten gold with moonlight at noon. 

Waiting for Superman in long red cape 
to soar down from Heaven on angel wings, 
like serious Moses to save her from slavery 
milking cows in prison camp of Auschwitz, 
Zuzanna smears her blood on tattered wings 
to seal fresh feathers from ravens with oakum. 

Just as the soldiers are about to shoot 
while laughing about kissing her dead corpse, 
Zuzanna reaches hand inside her breast 
and rips out her rib cage as lyre of Hermes 
which she strums with electric shock of faith 
that beams sorrow across the spinning Earth. 

Startled by signal only he can hear 
that reverberates from bone lyre of Hermes, 
Zal-El tears off his journalist disguise 
and soars around the Earth on raven wings 
to find Zuzanna in the field of wheat 
shot down by nine bullets of racist hate. 

Cradling wounded woman in gentle arms, 
Zal-El gazes deep in her burning eyes 
to listen as she sings her lamentation 
for six million children of Isra-El 
gassed in cement chambers of fearful hate 
whose skulls sing joyful hymns of jubilee. 

I have not come down from the sky, she sings 
with voice delicate as butterfly wings, 
so I will never go back up to Heaven, 
because I am no firebird from the stars, 
yet I am the Centaur with ancient faith 
who seeks salvation through my sacrifice. 

When spirit of Zuzanna vanishes 
in moaning breeze that rustles leaves of trees 
new sprouting from the atoms of her heart, 
Zal-El plucks ripe red apple from the tree 
and walks slowly among the feasting tables 
where blind angels write with blood of her soul.