Exit of a Lion into Zion
The sky refuses to wear its usual blue colour and the field around the cathedral has gone pale with the sun smiling only in a sheepish radiance.
For a great priest of the Lord most high has gone the way of his ancestors.
At the entrance to the cathedral, parishioners stand in utter disbelief wailing and lamenting in a kaleidoscope of painful emotional expressions
And their minds battle with ceaseless questions streaming through their embankments.
With their Catholic faces wearing mournful looks as they battle to accept the reality of his death and the painful torment of his unannounced demise,
They stare into the sky in a helpless wish that he could just drive in and say "tell your neighbour, sit down".
But Fr Zion is gone to Zion
The lion has departed for Zion.
But who can question God?
No one sure can.
Why do the good go soon?
Why do the lettered leaves so soon?
Why do the humble bow out unannounced?
Why do the humble die?
No one sure can provide answers.
After all, we are mere mortals
Fashioned out of his benevolent dust
And to the same dust, we shall return
For , like a palm wine tapper with his gourd tied to his waist,
we all wear emblems of mortality
And death is our lot when we are done.
And when we are all done paying our dues
And playing our part on the world's stage,
We shall return to the creator
And worship him unencumbered
By the distractions of our restless tides.
For then shall we truly find happiness and dance naked before God.
Rest in peace our dear priest!
We mourn!
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