Jesus before Herod: a haiku sequence

A king called Herod

looks down from his lofty throne;

he has the power.

He smiles, curious,

having heard rumours and tales;

wonders if they're true.

He requests a sign;

but the man stands silently

and gives him nothing.

The monarch persists,

hearing the accusations,

asks: What do you say?

No words are spoken.

Jesus stands before the king,

waits for the next step.

Treated with contempt,

he is robed, mocked and dismissed.

Your problem, Pilate.

© Ken Rookes 2016.

A question of identity

It is a question of identity.
If you are . . .
Is this not . . ?
Who is this . . ?
Who do you say . . ?
So, at the end, when he is paraded
for judgement, before the governor,
the tetrarch, and then the governor once more;
the questions continue.
Who are you, carpenter;
are you a king?
Will you perform for us a sign,
a something that will set our minds at rest;
or speak for us a word that will seize us,
a truth that will change our living?
No answer is given;
only silence.
The words have long been spoken,
scattered alongside the road, in villages,
kitchens and lake shores.
Some were heeded,
some discarded;
there will be no more.
One final message remains to be uttered.
It is not new, but a repetition
of the oft-spoken word
by which the man has shaped his living
and wrought his identity.
It will not be voiced by lips and tongue,
but by his body, suspended
and reaching out.

© Ken Rookes 2013