I Must Die Tomorrow Poem by Chris Zachariou

Lover of the wife;
father of the child;
seducer of the bride.

All my life, you tortured me.
The father I love, you crippled.
Now he splutters in the corner—
a voice without words.

When I was a child,
I asked you for a toy—
you promised me four nails.

Each night you
come into my dreams,
your face is menacing
and your heart is black.

I cry out in terror—
I'm not the promised one,
but you holler and tell me
I have no choice.

When I became a man,
How I loved the Rabbi's daughter!
But you took her away from me
and passed her on to other men.

I died a thousand times
when I heard her cry in shame.
I died thousands more
when I saw her close the drapes;

and, in that house with a red lamp
burning in the window, I hear Mary
weeping for a death foretold.

Hear me, I love my father;
I am not your son;
I make crosses to kill your prophets;
I still want the Rabbi's daughter.

And yet I know... I must die tomorrow.