Jerusalem, Jerusalem,
I would that I could walk again
Amid your streets ablaze with life,
And breathe the lively scents of spice.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem,
I would that I could hear again
The sound of prayer in your mosques,
The silent knolling of the bells,
The clangour of patrolling knights
Who solemnly in armour tread
Your dusty paths and stony ways
When sun ascends at break of day,
And noises of returning feet
To simple homes at fall of night,
The closing of your iron gates
Beneath the lustre of the moon.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem,
With blasphemies your cross is stained,
With agonies of sacrifice,
The long and sordid tale of blood,
Of warring nations long embroiled
In vain discord and endless strife;
When God’s own name is used to slay
The blameless children of His land.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem,
Long have you bathed in the rivers of tears,
Amid the glistening seas of blood;
Let the silence have its day,
Embittered in its irony,
And let the night of horror pass.
Unspoken prayers will be heard.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem,
Now draw again your living breath,
For in your defeat is your victory;
And rally forth your strong to sing
The joyous paeans of the dawn.
This poem is a collection of my thoughts on the Crusades in the Holy Land in the and 11th and 12th centuries - I've always been captivated by the tense, divided atmosphere of that time, so surcharged with factionalism and turmoil, both political and religious, with the innocent Israelites caught in the crossfire. This poem is an attempt to partially recreate my idea of that atmosphere - and perhaps to make the case that the sheer spiritual ancientry of Israel, and Jerusalem in particular, has helped it survive undiminished in power to this day despite having been scarred by centuries of gory conflict.
