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Àŧùl Oct 2016
Read my sole desire,
Oh my future children,
Burn my pyre when I die,
For I don't want to rise again,
Rise again when the angels cry,
And when they cry the dead rise,
Cry they may on the Judgment Day.

I don't want to be the walking dead,
As a blight may I 'come for earth,
Don't get me counted in them,
No, I don't wanna be buried,
Burn me after my death,
Oh my successors,
Read my will.

As I don't wanna walk again the floor of hatred,
And I don't wanna witness again that blood red,
As I don't wanna see the sky turning crimson red,
And I don't wanna waste some land as my bed,
Rather give me an electric funeral, my people,
For soon they will run their tanks over my grave,
And they might displace it and insult my grace.
The Aryan way of life doesn't have any Judgement Day – it's all about life cycles and rebirth in Hinduism.
The Christians & the Jews have a fantasy of Judgement Day, which is also spelt as Judgment Day.
The Mohammedans fantasize about Qayamat.
The Hindus fantasize about Pralay.

HP Poem #1222
©Atul Kaushal
JGuberman Sep 2016
While Abraham was binding Isaac
to Mount Moriah he was interrupted by
a knock at the door.
         "Who could this be?" he thought.
         "We don't even own a door," he cried.
So he continued binding Isaac to the
altar. Again, a knock that could make
the deaf hear. Abraham had to stop
and look for the door.
          He yelled, "Leave me alone, I'm doing
God's work!" and returned to continue
the akedah. And again a knock interrupted
him, and again, and again---Abraham
did not know what to do, whether to laugh
or to cry.
           And then he thought: "This will be
the history of my children. When we will
be doing our work or God's work there will
always come a knock at the door to interrupt
us...whether we own a door or not." And
it came to pass that the history of the Jews
is a history of interruptions.
Line 12 *akedah* from the Hebrew meaning the act of binding cf. Genesis 22:9.

This poem was written in September 1981, now 35 years ago  and was first published 30 years ago in the now long defunct Orim; A Jewish Journal at Yale 2:1 (Autumn 1986) p. 35.
Jade Melrose Jun 2014
Last night I had a nightmare,
a nightmare I could not bear.
They took me like they did you,
and there was nothing I could do.

No one knew they were coming,
how awful the world was becoming.
We stayed where we are,
as we had no where to go afar.

But I got a sense they were approaching.
Our home,
they were soon encroaching.
They charged in with machine guns,
“Into a line!” they dunned.

We were like sheep,
in the corner I weep.
The wolves hunted us down,
and the rest didn’t make a sound.

A million possibilities flashed past my mind.
Fear is all I had felt,
and it swallowed me from inside.
Clutching on to my father’s hand,
I fulfilled their every demand.

With a startle,
I woke,
the nightmare,
I didn’t want to evoke.

My night terrors were just the tip,
of the iceberg ****** emit.
The sensation I was exposed to,
the vulnerability
to this hostility,
is nothing compared
to how you were bared.

Bare of your dignity,
along with everyone else in the vicinity.
Bare of your freedom,
like a prisoner in a kingdom.
Bare of your esteem,
A monster, you were deemed.

How I never wanted to experience,
the result an evil influence.
But knowledge we seek,
from its original source,
we attempt to reap.

We say we comprehend,
but the time is misspent.
For we try and try to understand,
but we never will,
we never can.
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