No Cyrus he, this Angloid king from Queens;
In hate, they big him up to take a fall.
His eagle visage loads the magazines
Provoking hissy-fits of Fake-News gall.
Despised by half; notorious to all
And goading on his foes' hysteric scenes
A hail of ****** insults hits the wall
Unleashed by frothing cows and clueless teens.
Such overused hyperbole grows weak,
And tirades, through inflation, lose their worth
To finally miss the target that they seek—
While nations on the face of God's green earth
(countries that define themselves with borders)
Appallingly parade their own disorders.

She was beside this guy,
and beside herself with her
and him. She remembers sitting
on his shoulders while the sun
set over Jerusalem. She
was smiling in such a way
that the sun was backing down
from a challenge neither it nor I
had seen, which is why
I took the picture.

It was beautiful to see. The tilt
of her head for his photographs, the link
of her arm for his steadying walk, the share
of her sounds with him--one
earbud apiece--all the things
she used to do with me

And in the holy city I was blessed
to see her dance
between two kinds of love
so seamlessly

UnHAND me—!
Said the Jebusite to the Jew
—or I'll take your Sabbath
and put a miter in your mouth.

Abraham's Youth


I'm white,
and Jewish,
and American,
but I,
refuse to,
be scared again,

let's let the truth be our teacher,
for I don't want war either,

and they say Jews and Arabs,
have been fighting each other,
for thousands of years,
but we are all brothers,
we bleed the same blood,
share the same father,
we both want a future of peace,
for our daughters,

I doubt Abraham,
would've wanted it this way,
for his children,
to fight instead of play,

our Father,
would surely be upset,
if he was looking,
down from up there,
so I don't buy,
the propaganda they're selling,
for if true,
history is to be telling,
Jews and Arabs,
lived in harmony,
underneath,
the shade of olive trees,
In Jerusalem,
kids studied together,
good books,
academic endeavors,
for,
hundreds of years,
without,
hate or fear,
only,
love in our hearts,
until,
politics tore us apart…

In 1948,
the U.N. stepped in,
with their laws,
imperial rule and nuclear weapons,
divide and conquer,
Western Machiavellian,
tactics,
let me ask this,
is Damascas the axis,
where Abraham's *******,
practice black magic withcraft?

The fact is,
the Baptist,
the false profit priest,
praying to the beast,
left the light,
then mixed up the good book,
to make wrong seem right,
left to right,
they rewrote the Bible backwards,
they subtracted good,
and added bad words,
they say it's prayer,
but it's really evil practice,
fkcn sorcerer magicians,
rabbit in a hat tricks,
but instead of a rabbit,
they pull out a dove,
"Look,
we've capitalized off love!",
or at least,
the thought of it,
"here, buy lots of it!"
"Don't worry you'll be fine!"

I don't feel fine,
I feel like I'm,
losing touch,
with divine…

So I shout with my heart, W
here Is The LOVE!
Come here my Brothers,
give me a hug!
Put down the guns,
let us embrace,
let us pray together,
let us have some faith,

Isaac,
Ishmael,
we are one family,
let us,
bless us,
all of us actually,
let us,
break bread,
and have peace,
from the,
West Coast,
to The Middle East,
this is,
a New World,
in The Old City,
We've had,
enough war,
we need some peace,

As-Salaam Alaikum,
Wa-Alaikum Salaam,
Words of the Torah,
and the Koran,
Shalom,
Salaam,
open heart,
open palms,
from out of the dark ages,
we are the New Dawn,
rising above,
with hope,
and with love,
let there,
be peace,
let there,
be peace...

∆aron L∆ Lux ∆

there is a gun pressed to my chair
not sure whether to feel safer or more scared
the room is tense
waiter sneaks glances onto the young man, no older than 25
rolling his dice could not be louder than the 45 dB
silence, easier recognition just in case
i ask my dad not to take a secret photograph
fearful

There Was An Old Farmer called Zelalem
Whose dream was to visit Jerusalem
for which he tilled crop and prayed for rain
to mint some buck albeit in vain
That relentless Old Farmer called Zelalem

The day of reckoning is almost here
I'm on my way to the Promised Land
I'm sure there will be consequences
That's all right
I need a reckoning with myself, with God, with life

Absolution would be welcome
To myself I say
I want so much to be better
And in every way

I have so much to be grateful for
I must win this race
Against the bad in me
I want a state of grace

Jerusalem here I come
I need your open arms
I am finally here
Ready to disarm me from selfishness
My venality
With hope and determination
Help me succeed

for RFG


You told me of your love for London
and I, of mine for Jerusalem.
And we speak of our second homes
and our first loves,
and how those memories
should be left for the archaeologists,
and how we must for the time being
carefully avoid the subject
each of the other
like diplomats
in London or Jerusalem
busily seeking
positive signs,
in one and the other
or those things
we love elsewhere
and wish we could have
here at home.