Poems by Nelferch Merchoed
The Stone
'He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at
her.’ John 8,7
I am in this forest.
My hair is moist from mist.
The stone on which a name is written
Feels smooth and cold in my warm hand.
It starts to drain the warmth out of my fingers,
As once the bearer of this name began to drain
All laughter from my life.
I see You coming,
Silent as ever,
A movement easily escaping
All perception first.
My soul rushes to you,
And my heart quickens.
My pulses are sending waves
of heat into the stone.
You make me drown in your looks.
I feel You taking my clenched hand.
You take the stone from me,
An almost casual gesture.
Your dogs are jumping round Your hand all frantic,
With tiny little howl of sheer excitement.
They want to play, to hunt the stone,
Expecting You to throw it.
Your looks are holding mine.
The time is going to eternity.
We listen to the dialogue of our hearts:
The stone- will it be thrown?
If You will throw the stone, Your dogs will chase behind.
If You will drop it, Your dogs will rush to play with it.
I take the stone from You again
And put it into my pocket.
Your hands are free now to embrace me.
We tumble to the ground,
The dew soaking my clothes.
At home again I take the stone
From my wet garments-
All clean and wet,
No name upon it,
letters removed
when sheer joy reigned.
I place it tenderly upon a pile of letters-
Remembrance of both grace and love.