to weary wanderer

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       Poetry

 

       Poetry

dear friend,

éthe dream of one state is,

unfortunately, quite unrealistic.

both peoples reject it.

each wants his state, his flag.

perhaps in 50, 100 years,

after a phase of two states.

all the besté

 

to weary wanderer

 

i offer precept to console despair.

when feet are sore and blistered

from long search for salvation,

when the soul is betrayed and bitter,

the only solace is to lift the eyes

to glimpse once again faint glow

far ahead of the precious promise.

even moses, face shining with

reflection of the light revealed,

even he had to shout himself hoarse

to remind faithless wanderers

of the glory of distant destination.

 

so prophets too must calculate

that all too human indolence

will incline weary feet to adopt each

stop for shelter as substitute for home.

yes of course the horned combatants

proclaim birthright to sacred patrimony

and demand to wave colored rags

and shout competing dialects

and celebrate ancient rituals.

it is always them who demand

that each hard fought detour of

arduous passage to redemption

be defended fiercely as final destiny.

 

but who among them celebrates

the cold stare of snipers as they aim

between the eyes of children?

 

don’t give the faithless voices credence.

the confined geography of this contest

is not large enough to contain yet more

oppression of the people of the land.

conscience dictates that the disparate tribes

be gathered to community which bestows

the gift, no, the right, of equal justice

upon all the children of abraham.

 

yes of course many followers object,

but surely we are more than the basest

of reflexes conditioned, branded within

theirs theirs theirs, and,

look to heaven, even yours.

to compromise with infamy is sad fate.

only holy fools are brave enough

to squawk as wanderers stumble down

descending spiral of spiritual malaise.

 

but who among them claims credit

for the cold stare of snipers as they aim

between the eyes of children?

 

the weary hunger for inspiration

to remind them their souls once were rich.

the discouraged thirst for fuller truth

to justify their trial by hardship and despair.

so why bother to count the number of feet

marching behind the banner of democracy?

it is enough to know that many will follow

those brave zealots who first are roused

 

the antipodes of fury who battle for jerusalem

are not, as you suggest, harsh evidence

that both peoples reject a common fate,

but rather that the vocal and the violent

have great talent for dominating our view.

the silent majority of both tribes crave

nothing more perverse than normalcy.

don’t doubt their capacity, even if tardy,

to comprehend that unity in justice

is the only formula for peace capable

to transmute mundane dreams to reality.

 

but who among them will atone

for the cold stare of snipers as they aim

between the eyes of children?

 

haven’t the generals proven beyond doubt

the only client state worthy of unholy sanction

will be divided cantons of abject shame?

after all else is said and negotiated and done,

what else could possibly be the rationale

of the tightening noose of bypass roads

and the malignant facts infecting the hills

and the daily rehearsals of foul repression,

except to prepare for the unilateral separation

of the chosen from the damned?

 

when the bearers of arms impose

their new improved millennial apartheid

to violate yet another fragile spring,

when you stumble amidst the stony fields

of blood red poppies, yours and theirs,

remember to lift your eyes above the strife

to draw strength and comfort

from the promise of a better land

still shining somewhere ahead.

take heart, it’s not that far distant.

the journey will be complete when

the light of justice blinds enough logic.

 

but who among them could forget

the cold stare of snipers as they aim

between the eyes of children?

 

weary leader of the wanderers

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