Priest

Like the immigrants who like to live close to

homeland the village priest kept his congregation

on a short leash. We decided to visit his kingdom.

Shiny vestments, though sorrowful he was that

his congregation was poor, unable for him to raise

necessary funds to build the new church Bishop

expected of him. We thought he mimicked a juggler

a circus clown with no children in front of him.

He kept his eyes turned far away perhaps to hide

his uneasiness before our Übermensch who pulled

the curtains aside to let the moonlight in the room

and staring at the priest He said to us:

‘He too will become my child when he lets go

of his dead god and fanaticism.’

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