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