Murdering prophet

It was a small announcement in the newspaper, the radio announcer who mentioned it did not miss a beat as she casually mentioned that two children aged between 7 and 10 had been killed by a prophet. Their offence? Their parents had accused them of witchcraft. The wonder is that it got mentioned at all. Belief in the occult is rife amongst us and ironically you might find a religious house of prayer on every street. So why would we accept the mercy of a God and at the same time find a parent hand over their children to a stranger, even though a prophet for murder? For that is what it is, pure and simple. The parents will have sympathizers amongst their own kin and even those not directly related to them.
The supernatural in our neck of the woods has been so vilified that we tremble at the mere mention of adversity and simply put it at the doorstep of a vindictive god or goddess. We hesitate to admit openly that we stand in thrall of these gods and goddesses. But do we really have anything to be afraid of?
When the Westerners came, they took from us our faith because they could not understand it, adjudged everything as savage and brutal. They promptly took from us our props and left us hanging on a faith we have never been able to come to terms with no matter our pretensions or if the next Pope becomes a Nigerian!
The state in which those unfortunate children were murdered is reputed to be more than sixty percent catholic. The spate of infanticide got so bad that the governor was outraged enough to enact a law against it.
Every race on the face of the earth has a creation story. Its understanding about how the Almighty came about. Religion is a societal fix so we do not all become murdering savages. It is also an easy way to pass off our inadequacies on a Supreme Being who is vengeful, carefully taking stock of offences so He could have his pound of flesh.
When things happen and we cannot explain it in a logical way, we simply pass the buck to the Creator saying his ways are mysterious and thus cannot be questioned. Sometimes I sympathize with those who want to get out of the confusion by stating that they are atheist or those who hedge their bets by calling themselves agnostics.
The temptation thus is to doubt the existence of a creator that will allow two little children to be killed by the same parents who invited them into the world.
How did we come to believe in witchcraft? It is simply because we are ignorant of the laws of creation which has nothing to do with our present concepts of the creator. Why would he bother give us intellect and then ask us to suspend it when it comes to questions about the truth of God? Perfection has no gray areas and underline logic for there is truth in logic. However when things happen that we do not understand, our indolence makes us put everything at the door of the Almighty.
Poverty is probably one of the reasons, why those hapless parents handed over their children for murder. Inability to fulfill their parental obligations to the guests they invited into creation may have been reason to assume the same children are behind their inability to be effective and affective parents.
One power streams through Creation anchoring the eternal laws, ensuring just returns and recompense according to the measure of our sowing. For it is clear an unrefuttable that action equals reaction and what a man sows , that he shall reap. Nature demonstrated this so clearly and Nature is not religious! The sun shines on the sinner and the damned.
Mayhaps if the parents had waited a bit, recognizing that this law fulfills itself not only in Nature but also in human activity, they may have taken the option of accepting the present hardship, and sowed in activity seed that would have ensured a brighter tomorrow.
They would have been better guided that a man’s fate was embedded in his stars and could be adjusted if he so chooses.

he listened

as the men laughed
and preened
about their romantic successes

he went to the ancient one
for a love potion
that will bring
to his bed
his own love

seven red necked lizards
soaked in its own oils
with a ring
in the soil for seven nights
an assured night of passion
was promised

walking the village path
one moonlit night
he tapped a succulent waist
and led her
to his bed

the dawn broke warm and golden
he turned to see
his catch
she smiled
her teeth by dozen more than
the required number
and her laugh
was like a
horse in labour.

Just perfect

Just Perfect!

We pled love,
he called me a witch,
I tickled his fancy,
I danced to his dandy,
we stayed in a clinch.

In gurgling streams,
a perfect garden,
a troth was made
never to fade
he called me a witch
that stole his thunder!

In flowered dreams,
the years rolled by,
the endearments took a hue,
from the many frets,
when natured served us hets
as lessons of love
his eyes took a shine,
to varied shapes askew,
that taunted our troth.
if only I was truly a witch!
I would weld his wanderings!
to me!

onions

I cut the onions
the knife
slicing through
made my tears run
the smell of the
Onions
hung round
the curtains
Grandma observed
that I could have taken
a different approach

A gentle peel after peel
revealing new skin