Devils
The face of sorrow is the same for all,
For stricken Arab and for grieving Jew.
The tribes of men are humbled down to one,
As enemies are bound by common woe.
The mother weeps, the father's face is stone
That shatters as we watch or look away.
The child, the sibling and the spouse have tears.
The women wail. There's nothing friends can say.
How primal is the birth that gives us life,
How final is that ending that is death.
For life is gone and never will return,
And so is hope, for we have lost the bet.
How many years it takes to raise a child,
How quickly vital breath can pass away...
How many tears – of joy and then of grief,
How long the night, how brief, the passing day...
******
There's death that comes in time to ease our pain,
A blessing bright, in darkest cloak disguised.
There's death that is inflicted, full of woe,
Of violence and horrors stark comprised.
There is a calculus of human pain,
A logic dark in all our “leaders” do.
The mob enraged, the bomber in the sky,
Are figured in – and also me and you.
How vain, revenge that brings yet more of death.
How childishly we feed each other's fears!
And what can compensate for loss of life,
When all that's left are memories and tears?
We call for justice, but we call in vain.
There are no gods that watch from arcing sky.
And if there were, they would not care a fig
When ants are crushed – or when our children die.
******
But when our anger leads to hatred, death,
To forces dark, we then give shameful birth.
And looking in the mirror, then, we see
That there are devils here, upon this Earth.
The one with strength is he, who should forbear.
In humbling foe, he makes it all too clear
That he, in turn, his humbling, too, will bear.
Who deals in death, will pay in wages dear.
The one, who's weaker, only can appeal
To better nature of the one, who's strong.
The weak are crushed, as others look away,
For might is right – until we say it's wrong.
How much of pain, of horrors, screams that mute
Our voices, dulling orphaned children's eyes?
How much of pain, until our hearts refute
These conflicts, born of treachery and lies?
The face of sorrow is the same for all,
For stricken Arab and for grieving Jew.
The tribes of men are humbled down to one,
As enemies are bound by common woe.
The mother weeps, the father's face is stone
That shatters as we watch or look away.
The child, the sibling and the spouse have tears.
The women wail. There's nothing friends can say.
How primal is the birth that gives us life,
How final is that ending that is death.
For life is gone and never will return,
And so is hope, for we have lost the bet.
How many years it takes to raise a child,
How quickly vital breath can pass away...
How many tears – of joy and then of grief,
How long the night, how brief, the passing day...
******
There's death that comes in time to ease our pain,
A blessing bright, in darkest cloak disguised.
There's death that is inflicted, full of woe,
Of violence and horrors stark comprised.
There is a calculus of human pain,
A logic dark in all our “leaders” do.
The mob enraged, the bomber in the sky,
Are figured in – and also me and you.
How vain, revenge that brings yet more of death.
How childishly we feed each other's fears!
And what can compensate for loss of life,
When all that's left are memories and tears?
We call for justice, but we call in vain.
There are no gods that watch from arcing sky.
And if there were, they would not care a fig
When ants are crushed – or when our children die.
******
But when our anger leads to hatred, death,
To forces dark, we then give shameful birth.
And looking in the mirror, then, we see
That there are devils here, upon this Earth.
The one with strength is he, who should forbear.
In humbling foe, he makes it all too clear
That he, in turn, his humbling, too, will bear.
Who deals in death, will pay in wages dear.
The one, who's weaker, only can appeal
To better nature of the one, who's strong.
The weak are crushed, as others look away,
For might is right – until we say it's wrong.
How much of pain, of horrors, screams that mute
Our voices, dulling orphaned children's eyes?
How much of pain, until our hearts refute
These conflicts, born of treachery and lies?
sjanah@aol.com
2012 November 13th, Tue.
Brooklyn
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