Zen and the Art of Expiation

And so that is where matters rest now-
After thirty odd years, two millennia, a kiss
And oh!, the tree, a lonely tree that paved
The road to Satan's gnawing jaws, and now this!
That the righteous of the ages who raged and raved
Curses upon you, had got it wrong somehow!

Perhaps, if you could find time from being chewed,
As you apparently are being, and ponder
That for thirty you died a miserable wretch;
You'd probably be baffled and wonder
That your brittle pages can now fetch
Three million, even though corroded and mildewed.

And perhaps, too, you'd look at the stars above,
And your's the foremost of them! Would you shed
A lonely tear that others were absolved
For doing they knew not what, and yet you alone have bled
All these ages? Or perhaps you knew, and in your mind were resolved
To plant the kiss that was not the child of sin, but Love?

© Arka Mukhopadhyay, 2006

Thank you, JJ, for the inspiration, though this is nowhere near as good as your's