《 Untitled. A poem about Jerusalem. 》
Who are you?
Jerusalem. Yerushalayim. Al-Quds.
Once bitter backwater, now your heart so coveted and conquered.
Prized jewel, hotly desired, bearer of seventy titles. Queen of beguiling beauty, too numerous are your jealous lovers.
Pilgrims, prophets, poets.
Who are you, city perched upon hills?
Canaanites, Christ, Caliphates and Crusaders.
Gentle mother of Zion.
Tyrannical Jezebel of Hinnom.
Moriah drowns in blood, rivers and ravines, dry bones piled higher than your city walls. History defiled. Wail and weep.
Who are you, city north of dry desert?
Metropolis on earth and in paradise. Nirvana, birth of dynasties, backdrop to the end of days.
Only when I believe I could finally grasp you, you slip away, I am swept into
your mystery,
myriad.
Who are you, city of light and dark?
Come. See. Conquer.
To be raised.
And to be razed.
Who are you, city of many creeds?
Good night. May your sleep be sweet. Stars above meet stars below.
Are you mine? Are you theirs? Are you everybody's, or do you answer to none?
Us mere mortals could not truly know who you are nor who you will be...becoming
Jerusalem, as seen from the Mount of Olives.
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