SAINT THOMAS, VERSES 196 - 213
Mark Traill
16 June 2008, 08:46“Here we go a-fucking-gain!
Here comes pious Thomas Saint!
But a question to your blessed
Holiness and oh so splendid
Host of angels, coronets
Sing your name out to the rest
Of heavens Saints who then praise –
That miracle you’ve yet to make?”
“Don’t you remember?
I slept in your room?
You were a mess
In a heap, you were doomed
You couldn’t speak
And you’d lost all your teeth
All you could do
Was scream in your sleep
For three long days
You lay there still
I knelt there and prayed
That you were just ill
You shook and you coughed
Was sweating and groaning
You laughed and you wept
In dreams of foreboding
My fast was a penance
Exhausted by prayer
Sick now myself
My waters unclear
But I prayed on
Dear god
Can you hear me?
I need your good work…
….A miracle to aid me?”
“You think you cured me?
When you saw me?
In Benares? By the Ganges?
My teeth repaired? My pallor fresh?
Because of you? And now your blessed
Prayers to god and I owe you?
A life from now? I’ll give you a clue
Of little tricks in young boys minds
Lend me your palms, I’ll trace lines
Up to a future and it’s assured
The miracles truth on July the third
Revealing now how it can be
That Baba has a brother see?”
The roaring of an engine
The bike careens so fast
And only halts by Thomas standing
Scared and feeling dark
Silence only punctured
By tumultuous rain
Thomas now he contemplates
A life not being a Saint
He stands and he wobbles from the seat of his bike
Stands close to his twin to see how alike
They must have looked before that night
When one of them lost his teeth in a fight
Any more differences between such a pair?
Well one wears a scarf to conceal a bald head
But other than that they’re amoebas in arms
Who now laugh at Thomas who’s losing his calm
“….why? Why? WHY!
Do you insist that I die?
With such great malice
It’s deplorable!
This death is weird!
This death is horrible!
You’ve not begun
But before you do
Please tell me your names
And what do you do?”
“Please to acquaint at last young Thomas
Retired teacher by the name of Didymus
I’m the youngest of us by half hour
I got all the brains so I got all the power
I spend my time now travelling a lot
To India mainly, I almost forgot
Of my brother beside me
Who still lives in London
He came to see me with a big problem
And your first lesson, which you got so wrong
Was helping out family, and help them be strong”
“….please…to meet you…..
…me name’s Jude….
….forgive me now….
…I’m not being rude…
….caught malaria….
….in the forces……
…….not with wife…………
…..we’re now divorced…….
…. missing my daughter…..
….. I see her no more….
…..she died very suddenly…….
….she died very poor….
….her beautiful face….
….will always be cherished…
…on this photo of her…..
….but now she is perished…..”
Little picture slip from fingers riding in the gale
Thomas found his courage and did chase it for a while
And at last he caught it by the wives now counting baskets
The realization he was dead was now enough to ask it?
“Oh father, Oh Jude
Oh what have I done?
I needed space
And a bit of sun
Before returning
I promised to be
A husband, a father
A good employee”
“I’ll speak for my Jude
His mind is not set
His daughter, your lover
My niece is now dead”
Adams Chapel
She is my wine
She is humanity
She brings me peace
She brings insanity
I’m wild and at sea
My beacon, my mountain
Her beauteous dunes
Which promise to fountain
You are my yearning
You own my stare
Which kisses your toes
And plays with your hair
I’m just getting started
It must last an age
To savour your laughter
And read every page
Then laugh at dear Adam
Who regrets in the chapel
His only decision
The taste of this apple
I weep and I sob
That letter I sent
Will never reach ********
It’s time to repent
My sins in the luggage
I’m ready to leave
But first there’s a question
That might ease my grief
“What of my son?”
“Silver linings in dark clouds
That boy is sure to make me proud
He has her face but with your eyes
He makes me smile and never lies
His perfume is as soft as wool
He’s almost sitting on his stool
He’s got a Dad and it’s called me
When Jude here gave me custody”
The sun broke the clouds
And proudly it shone
On the figure of Thomas
But his shadow had gone
And clutching his photo
So dear to his breast
He looked to the ocean
That fanned to the west
And galloped down beach
To evenings low tide
And jumped in the water
To be by her side
He’s swimming as waves
Come rolling and crashing
He grips to her photo
His legs are now thrashing
So hopeless at last
He stops in the cold
And the ocean is cast
In sunsets of gold
…faces of you – so many faces!
My trip a disaster, but so many places!
Amit on train and Fleur in the sky
And sadhu’s and beggars
And widows who smile!
In mama’s house
With tigers and dealers
And charlatan men
Who claim to be healers
Rickshaw driver
Kicked from his home
Is sitting with me
We’re laughing at Rome
Faces of you
They all fade to one
I’m hearing you calling me
To wait for our son…
And when time had come
For his bones to leave
They scattered out slowly
In the Arabian Sea
His legs in Chennai
His ribs in Edessa
And fifteen half pounds
Of bone to Kerala
His skull it did bob
Still looks for its home
And one day real soon
Will hope to reach Rome
No such thing as time
A cycle isn’t day
God whispers an eternity
To stretch
Beyond the bay
Editor’s note: This marks the conclusion of Mark Trail’s Epic Poem – “St. Thomas” – if you have missed any of the verses, or desire to read it in it’s entirety, you can find every instalment at Mark’s author page at Epic India .
