I remember the night my mother <br />was stung by a scorpion. Ten hours <br />of steady rain had driven him <br />to crawl beneath a sack of rice. <br /> <br />Parting with his poison - flash <br />of diabolic tail in the dark room - <br />he risked the rain again. <br /> <br />The peasants came like swarms of flies <br />and buzzed the name of God a hundred times <br />to paralyse the Evil One. <br /> <br />With candles and with lanterns <br />throwing giant scorpion shadows <br />on the mud-baked walls <br />they searched for him: he was not found. <br />They clicked their tongues. <br />With every movement that the scorpion made his poison moved in Mother's blood, they said. <br /> <br />May he sit still, they said <br />May the sins of your previous birth <br />be burned away tonight, they said. <br />May your suffering decrease <br />the misfortunes of your next birth, they said. <br />May the sum of all evil <br />balanced in this unreal world <br /> <br />against the sum of good <br />become diminished by your pain. <br />May the poison purify your flesh <br /> <br />of desire, and your spirit of ambition, <br />they said, and they sat around <br />on the floor with my mother in the centre, <br />the peace of understanding on each face. <br />More candles, more lanterns, more neighbours, <br />more insects, and the endless rain. <br />My mother twisted through and through, <br />groaning on a mat. <br />My father, sceptic, rationalist, <br />trying every curse and blessing, <br />powder, mixture, herb and hybrid. <br />He even poured a little paraffin <br />upon the bitten toe and put a match to it. <br />I watched the flame feeding on my mother. <br />I watched the holy man perform his rites to tame the poison with an incantation. <br />After twenty hours <br />it lost its sting. <br /> <br />My mother only said <br />Thank God the scorpion picked on me <br />And spared my children.<br /><br />Nissim Ezekiel<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/night-of-the-scorpion/
