Tuesday of Holy Week

Gabriele Mistral

Our Father who art in heaven,
Why hast Thou forsaken me!
Thou did’st remember the February fruit,
When torn was its pulp of ruby.
My side is pierced also
Yet Thou will’st not look at me!
Thou did’st remember the dark grape cluster
And did’st give it to the crimsoned press,
And Thou did’st fan the poplar leaves
With thy breath of gentleness.
Yet in the deep wine press of death
Thou still would’st not my heart express!
As I walked I saw violets open;
And I drank the wine of the wind,
And I have lowered my yellowed eyelids
Never more to see Winter or Spring.
And I have tightened my mouth to stifle
The verses I am never to sing.
Thou hast wounded the cloud of Autumn
And Thou will’st not turn toward me!
I was sold by the one who kissed my cheek;
He betrayed me for the tunic vile.
I gave him in my verses, my blood-stained face,
As Thine imprinted on her veil,
And in my night of the Orchard I have found
John reluctant and the Angel hostile.
And now an infinite fatigue
Has come to pierce my eyes:
The fatigue of the day that is dying
And of the dawn that will arise;
The fatigue of the sky of metal
The fatigue of indigo skies!
And now I loosen my martyred sandal
And my locks, for I am longing to sleep.
And lost in the night, I lift my voice
In the cry I have learned from Thee:
Our Father who art in heaven,
Why hast Thou forsaken me!


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