poem

by Ivan P.

She said that the Book of Genesis is not a textbook
of deceit and perversity, as many people think of it,
but just a narration of what had happened then,
and saints are not the guys with rich imagination,
ambiguous conduct and boundless inner freedom,
but just those who have spoken to God.
As for the question why God had chosen
the pettiest soul he could ever create,
that was really a problem for him.
He approached Abraham from left and right,
from the front and from behind, above and below,
but that smug fellow full of merchant rubbish didn't
see nor hear anything. In the end, utterly despondent,
he penetrated the skull and buried himself inside.
If you ask me where he is now, I would say that
he's still imprisoned in some businessman's skull,
bored to death. Lost in heavenly dross, angels don't
miss him, of course; they're happy with their
mad psalms.