Photo by Hanan Greenwood
The smoke rises high in the Negev sky,
A burning house, a car, a mother, a child
What happens to martyrs after they die-
Do their souls weep for all the defiled?
Do the Heavens cry out for those who are dead
And for the living who would take their place.
What happens to letters unsent and words unsaid-
Do they linger in some dark, quiet space?
When their memories are gone, their faces forgotten
Will the world pause to remember their dread?
Can life carry on from a peace misbegotten
After every last tear has been shed?
In the Holy of Holies, the cherubim cry out
They pray for their Zion restored
When the cedars of Lebanon will sprout in the wild
And the desert shall bloom like the rose.
When sorrow and sadness at last flee away
And the arrogance of man is brought low
And in the haunts where the jackals once lay,
Grass and reeds and papyrus will grow.
A burning house, a car, a mother, a child
What happens to martyrs after they die-
Do their souls weep for all the defiled?
Do the Heavens cry out for those who are dead
And for the living who would take their place.
What happens to letters unsent and words unsaid-
Do they linger in some dark, quiet space?
When their memories are gone, their faces forgotten
Will the world pause to remember their dread?
Can life carry on from a peace misbegotten
After every last tear has been shed?
In the Holy of Holies, the cherubim cry out
They pray for their Zion restored
When the cedars of Lebanon will sprout in the wild
And the desert shall bloom like the rose.
When sorrow and sadness at last flee away
And the arrogance of man is brought low
And in the haunts where the jackals once lay,
Grass and reeds and papyrus will grow.
