I have come to the courtyard alone for my stoning,
He asks me, “Where are your accusers?”
They are hiding,
Suspiciously, my own hand holds a sizable rock,
What can it mean?
I creep like a thief who eschews the light,
Only sane people question,
Opprobrium…Only I hear the prattling of my absent but potent jury,
A force casts me to the ground…it is the
Primal prosecutor…memory,
Opprobrium…Does anyone hold me in such great
Contempt as I?
Opprobrium…God himself has banished you from my
Soul’s country, What cheek has brought you here again?
Opprobrium…It was I who placed you on a silver plate,
But for the questions it was I who would have feasted on
This deadly sin,
Yes, I now question, oh blessed thought…
I will not choose opprobrium,
Lord to whom all debts I owe, lovingly write shame’s
Epitaph in the sand, that all blame be where blame
Belongs, and opprobrium receive back the stone for
The ill placed one in my hand.
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