Into your hands

Haiku of the end.

They arrest Jesus
decide upon the verdict,
begin the trial.

Taken to Pilate,
He is accused of treason;
by his own people.

A Galilean,
you say! He’s not my problem;
take him to Herod!

Jesus the healer!
says Herod, all excited.
Show for me a sign!

He keeps them guessing,
refusing to play their game,
keeping his mouth shut.

Pilate resists them,
He has done no wrong. Flog him,
then we’ll let him go.

The crowd shout him down.
Pilate, lacking conviction,
lets Barabbas go.

Beaten and broken
Jesus staggers ‘neath his cross.
The Cyrene bears it.

The inscription reads
This is the king of the Jews.
A king for us all.

They are mocking him:
If you are king, save yourself!
The soldiers join in.

Two others also,
criminals, guilty as charged,
are hanged there with him.

The one also mocks.
The other entreats: Jesus,
do not forget me.

At three he cries out,
Father. I am in your hands!
and draws his last breath.

The crowd return home,
beating their breasts, questioning,
What is it we’ve done?

 

© Ken Rookes 2019

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