J'accuse

The world stands ready to accuse the lover at the drop of a hat
Of everything they'd like to do themselves, and bag him like a cat--

Or maybe dangle him neatly between two trees,
Or place him in boiling oil up to his knees.

Eleven of Jesus' top twelve were slaughtered;
It's a wonder all Humanity doesn't get drawn and quartered!

But that'd leave no one to do the torturing,
And torturers are sorely needed in God's joke-posturing.

"Wanted: torturers: excellent pay," read the ad in Hell.
"All you need to do is go up to the Earth to dwell."

"Signed, God," read the ad. "'Cause I can't leave my lovers hanging.
They need something to prod them, some hammer on
                                                  their heads and hearts a-banging."

"It gives them wings: 'course you won't see them when they've
                                                                              ascended.
But your pay will be the Grace, next life to get your ways mended."

                            next poem     previous poem
               back to Meher Baba poems    back to Poetry
                                           Home