I am from a place,
where violence takes place,
by outsiders and insiders.
I oppose horror
terror,
melancholy,
and every fear chasing me.
I barely can, though.
In my thoughts, however,
I flee the darkness,
the hate and the arrogance.
I run off the imposed siege along with my tears,
with my good and bad memories,
with my stolen childhood,
and my ruined adulthood,
with my beating heart full of holes.
Into the farthest city, I want to descend,
like a prophet, an angel or a human.
I just want to descend anyways,
into Jerusalem, the city of peace,
and righteous.
I walk through the lanes of its old town,
among the stalls of its old markets,
built of limestone.
With my wide-open eyes,
I mediate the high woody gates,
closed for hundreds of years,
I stare at its historic walls,
several armies from different times,
tied their mares to, across old ages.
I gape at the Holy Sepulcher Church,
the Omar Mosque located behind it,
and the mounts beside.
I sense the worshipers all around, Muslims, Jews, Christians
praying and thanking God,
for the peace, he gives them, daily.
I get into the deep alleyways,
full of people with and without Kofeyyas.
I look at the golden Dome of the Rock,
and the Al-Aqsa Mosque,
from outside, insanely.
I take off my plastic slippers at the entrance,
after checking all details around with my five senses.
Getting ready to pray too, I enter the holy mosque.
I raise my hands,
kneel,
and pray,
for peace and for love,
in Jerusalem,
and around Jerusalem.
Mohammed Arafat
03-03-2020