I realized this morning that yesterday was the start of
Hanukkah, the lighting of the candles. I thought that it that it's been very dark time for so many people. I thought, perhaps, in my way, I'll share a poem that keeps telling me that it wants to be shared. Oh, and a Jewish song that I enjoy listening to repeatedly. And a Ukrainian Folk song that I can't stop listening to.
And in my own way, light my own menorah.
Yourself?
Robbed.
Blind.
And you didn’t know.
Who took it from you?
Which way did they go?
All your love. All your light.
They stole it from you in broad
daylight.
Who was the thief that robbed the
train? Who took away the engine and stole your heart, and rewired your brain?
Who was the one who rewrote your
will? Who took away your inheritance, and your freewill?
Who was the one who signed the
paper, that took from you your own grace, your savior?
Who stole your sight? And made you
blind, to the truth surrounding you all the time?
Who was the culprit that made you
chase, after other Gods, with a different face?
Who moved into your house, and
stole your land? Who pillaged your temple, and robbed you, again and again?
Who stole your name, and made you
bow down, who forced you to wear an iron crown?
Who was the one who made you
forget, who you were, your place, where you and your beloved met?
Who took your voice, and all your
power, who stole your one true lover?
Who took from you your light? Who
made you wander the earth, from dawn, till night?
Who made you look for the love
that you are, who made you forget, that you are the beloved, the fixed, shining
star?
What kind of lie did you ingest?
That turned you into your own
uninvited guest?
Who was the one who made you drink
the poison, who took from you, your one enjoyment?
Who was the one who stole your
youth, that took from you the wisdom you could have taken with you, your truth?
Who will confess at the Passover
feast, who was the Judas, who wanted the silver, who was the double-minded
thief?
Who was it that nailed love to the
cross?
Who was it that turned on life
itself?
Who was it that didn’t believe
that God could raise himself?
Who was it who wasn’t his brother's
keeper?
Who was it who told the lie, that
blamed another?
Who was it who saw and watched it
all?
Who was it?
And why don’t we see?
That who we are looking for, and
the person we blame, is our head and our heart playing a strange sort of game.
We split ourselves in a thousand
pieces, and toss away the bliss, the prince—of all the pieces.
And the person we blame, is one of
the twelve, a double minded soul, that hangs himself.
And so all our silver we spend on
a potter's field, on our own grave.
Lost ourselves, because we think
it’s only our bodies we save.
Sold our treasure.
For pottage. And we bought a lie.
When will we stop? When will we
wonder why?
When will we see his kingdom come?
When will the moon be turned to
blood? When will the sun stop giving its love?
When will the stars fall from the
sky?
When will the earth give up her
dead?
When will we ever see the end?
When will we heal, when will we
mend?
When will we gather the whole, and
love all the missing parts?
When will love be the one we
crown?
When will truth be told, and when
will it abound?
When will the captives be set
free?
When will then lost tribes finally
see?
When will we gather all the pieces of real gold?
When will we toss out the lies,
and live the higher law from above?
When will we rise from our own
dark tombs?
When will we shake off the pain,
the gloom?
When will the stone be rolled
away?
Who will be standing there, what
angels will light the way?
What second coming would we
recognize, a raised Christ we walked with in disguise?
What sort of coming, in glory, and
splendor, would bring an end to the war, and the hunger?
When will love stand
supreme? Truth light, love, spirit, unified, a glorified being.
When will we be one with life?
When will we stop chasing silver
instead, of the light?
When will we free the one who loves
us best? When will we put love where it belongs? When will we raise up, the hallelujah, and fan the palms?
When will we crown the rightful
king?
When will we let him ride through
our streets?
When will he be an invited guest?
When will we let love, be the one
we love best?
When will we stop washing our
hands, looking the other way, and giving in to other people's demands?
When we stop accusing love?
When will we stop nailing it up?
When will we bring his kingdom
down, to a place in yourself, to your own hallowed ground?
When will you let it crack the
law? When will you let Christ tip over your tables, where you tally, and claw?
Who is the one who holds the whip?
Who strikes love, who makes it slip?
Who is the one who barters for
love's clothes?
Who stands guard to watch its dead
bones?
Who is the one who will raise from the dead, the light, the love, the heart, the body, the head?