Poem: The Smoke Rises High In The Negev Sky

 

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.

New Poem: Dreams

Each dream, said Freud, is a wish unfulfilled,
A longing for an unreachable goal,
Obscure desires deep in our subconscious
That haunt us even as we sleep.
The nighttime is the mind’s chance to rebuild,

Fulfill the longings of each desperate soul
To awaken memories of a distant promise,
That lie dormant, hidden somewhere deep.
A world without order, a world without sense
Awaits us each night when we hibernate,
Each detail a mystical connection
That exists not in our waking state.
The search for meaning, the search for clues,
Answers to life’s riddles as we snooze
Friendships lost; tasks yet undone
That when we awake are soon forgotten.
Random images from a long time ago,
From out of childhood’s unconscious mind
That stalk us each night after bedtime
From out of the darkness and obscurity.
If only we could finally crack the code
And bring light to this eternal mystery!