Some half a mile, of aging lime
With the pain, entombed in, seventy ninth psalm
Of the lasting, loss of, shrines sublime
He kisses stones, of a living qualm!
The old crusades, some won, some lost
Three brothers fought, for dominion
Now the, new ones loom, demand faith’s cost
Fidels’ ageless blood, ever debt-ridden!
How time bestows, relics of fear
To the race, that lusts God, more than bread
On the wall, of faith, his every tear
Draws graffiti, of a sin inbred!
Still blood baptizes, Jerusalem’s streets
And mothers moan, their last lullaby
“No war, ever won, which faith defeats”
Laments to death, Wailing Rabbi!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra