SikhSpectrum.com Quarterly Issue No.22, November 2005
Fathjang
- Neil Carleton
Birthed from earthstuff, poured from liquid flame,
Cracked from a clay womb, red subsiding.
Shaped and polished, turned, always turning
Through long labours by countless hands, with pride and skill,
It's cold shell fashioned.
Richly caparisoned, carried into sunlight,
Behind rippling hide and snorting muscle pulled.
Chiming chains and groans of wood and leather its constant companions.
Rumbles and jarring motion, distant shouts, a constant lullaby.
Roaring into life, voice thunderous, jubilant and terrible.
'Cloud tearer', 'mountain shaker', vomiting hell-born breath.
Deafening it drowns out the shouting, the screams and rending of flesh.
Blinding, choking smoke obscures the scurrying acolytes serving it.
Now it lies silent, mouth gaping, gleaming,
Mute, dispassionate, on colder, different soil.
Sole witness to carnage it once wrought,
A symbol of past pride and man's dire invention.
