Old woman,
You shiver on
The bomb-shattered street;
Alone
Lift your weary eyes
And scan the wasteland—
The rubble, the wires,
The concrete walls:
The dry bones of Solomon’s glory.
Mother, don not weep;
Your tears were shed
Centuries ago.
For I know the pain of your race:
The burden of your blood
Is heavy.
The anguish was knotted
With your bones.
Surely, God is your witness:
And the Moon over Jerusalem
Will not be silent:
For she too has seen
Your bondage, your silent
Prayers from broken hearts.
She too has seen your children
Crushed by the agony of bloody wars—
Crushed—yes—in heart
But not in spirit.
For God is yet your Spring
In the hostile desert—
The Life-giving Water.
He will lead you out of Egypt,
Out of the Land of Slavery,
Out of the Land of Exile….
You are going home.
Rachel, you are weeping
For your children….
Lift up your head, Jerusalem,
Weep no more—
The Promised Land is yours;
God will trample your enemies,
The lions at your walls.
Mother, old mother, rejoice—
The King is at the Gates—
God’s waiting to gather his children beneath his wings.
Ashley Akari
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/jerusalem-8/
