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Flying mountains The old man was coming back From others wars The year of famine approaching to shores Black future and the last Jew Giving his last blessing to the Promised Land Tamalult is no more white, and olives are frail The shepherd was coming back home To find his destiny sharpened “Down we go” said Solomon, No more clay to eat, no more locusts to spare. The Shagrounis left with the Benjamins, On the blue horizon they felt weak Jesus took a fist of wild thyme, Ezra a fist of white sand. “Nothing to weep for...!” cried out Solomon, His wife fearing miscarriage hoping that the city Will be less cruel on her children. Singing an old Amazighi melody “Spring will be like red Poppy flower in Our land, above the skies And onto the hands of God” ** They never knew what Thee showed them, The son of man will rise Above the hill And call for them to bow ** Solomon still crying, Vowing not to return to his ruined temple cave. Uncle Ali prayed for the rain That never came. Spending evenings beside The water stream of the Roman spring. Waiting for the gush. It dribbled and slowly died. Uncle Ali is blind now, Still dreaming, Praying for rain. ** O, Man if you came With all the sins In the world I’ll forgive you, And don’t care. ** |
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All rights reserved for the author Ghazi Gheblawi 2003/2005 |
