Sunday, 13 September 2015

A Curse

Dear Reader,

I am always very distressed when I read about the bones of an ancient person buried with its special treasures, being disturbed, being violated, and then taken away somewhere to be dissected.  This I feel is an affront, something we simply should not do.  These bones are sacred and embody the spirit and soul of a human being, albeit they are no longer sentient.  They wished to be buried and to then to rest in peace, and rightly so.  But their peace has been stolen.

A Curse

on those who plunder the earth,
and violate sacred places....

A curse on those who disturb
and steal gently-bandaged skulls,
legs, arms, and finger-bones,
jewels: perhaps a pearl bracelet,
a coral ring, hair pins, or a mosaic plate,
set out lovingly with food
for the long journey home.
Who have lain there, at peace,
for many thousand years,
the sand, the desert winds, the rains,
nature's bed.

A curse on those whose
laughter and excitement
fills the air, stealing these remains,
transporting them to people
in white coats,
who dissect their dignity,
stick labels on them,
give them to museums
to enlighten an ice-cream-licking public.


Musing this week.....

Whilst  wondering which poem to choose this week, and choosing "A Curse",  I thought about Richard III and the finding of his bones in Leicester City in August 2012.  He was killed at the Battle of Bosworth in 1485 and was subsequently taken by the Grey Friars, to their friary church, and buried there.      Hundreds of years later Leicester Car Park was built over his bones and busy important people, knowing of his whereabouts, dug him up.   So poor Richard III no longer rests in peace, but I don't suppose Leicester City council feels any guilt, or anyone else for that matter.

These words are on Shakespeare's gravestone:

"Good frend for Jesus sake forbeare,
To digg the dust encloased heare
Blese be the man that spares thes stones,
And curst be he that moves my bones."

Very best wishes, Patricia

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