The deer had a chief in the green banyan grove
His ego was bloated with self-loving throes
He thought to himself…
my antlers are fine
my haunches are hard
and I have a keen mind
His long days were spent eloping with does
and taunting young bucks, in the green banyan grove…
But it once came to pass that he fell fast in love
A doe struck his heart like a dart from above
Not a fortnight had passed, and she carried his fawn
He’d sired three-dozen, but he thought them cheap spawn
This time, however
his soul felt a pang
The mother, he loved
and the fawn would bear his name
Yet on a day long ordained
before the hour of birth-pains
five hunters drew near to the grove
Bows at the ready
their hands naught but steady
the hunters came stalking the does
They found her alone
She stood like a stone
the mother who bore the chief’s fawn
By design, he was near
His heart filled with fear
at the sight of five bows that were drawn
She dared not to run
Her limbs had gone numb
She knew not how to process the danger
But the chief was abhorred
He’d seen this before
To the threat, he was ought but a stranger
Heedless of pain
or the danger to himself
afore his love, he sped, and there reeled
In this circumstance
he’d give her a chance
by using his body as a shield
The darts were then loosed
deadly as any noose
They punctured his body with ease
His scream split the air
It raised hackle and hair
The lament unbuckled her knees
It was then that she ran
there outpacing every man
She’d be damned lest her fawn see his life
He watched as she left
there gasping for breath
the Chief who ran not from the scythe
Yet amidst his sharp pain
he felt peace all the same
For once, his intent had been pure
Though spilling his blood
the earth turned to mud
his demise was now all but sure
He then gave up the ghost
His psychic-nature did boast
a vast myriad of thoughts and impressions
From this life, and that
he swirled in a vat
of images, sounds, and reflections
Then, in a blink
his mind on the brink
the Lord stood before him, as one clothed
His voice came as water
the tidings of a Father
To this One, the Chief was betrothed
He stammered in speech that he knew not before
To him this new Lord was a thing of adore!
“My Master” he said
there nursing his dread
“For your servant, what doom do you plan?”
The Lord broadly smiled
His voice, soft, as a child’s
“My son, you’re now fit to be Man.”
ScrutinyInFaith 