A Poem For Adam Shamir, Son of Israel
(to be chanted in part)
1.
OH Adam, My Shamir, the little worm that will continue to slowly
gnaw at the roots
Of this evil house, until you literally tear its structure down
to the very ground,
so that a new and glorious Temple of Light and Truth can and
will take its place.
OH Adam, My Shamir, my Ustad, the first born son and father of
creation,
you are called by the voice of maturation to bring forth a new
and glorious nation,
for you have seen blood on the hills of Lebanon, blood on the
walls and rooftops of Jordan,
blood on graves, Mosques, and Churches in Ramalah that were left
standing, yet still burning, blood of slain heroes in Jericho,
Bethany, Bethel, Herodium, No Man’s Land, Ephraim, Qumran,
Judea; yes, blood and more death in Samaria, Bethlehem, Hebron,
En Gedi, in Janin, Qalqilyah, Mizpe Yeriho, Bet Ha’Arava, and
more death and blood of the people, in Elisha, Mashra Musa al
Alamin, and Mul Nevo, Nablus, Tulkarm, and even in the streets
of Jerusalem near where the Holy Sepulchers lay, where the
passion was a living play, in disguise of deeper inner meanings
that the masses could not see or comprehend, their need of eyes,
ears, and mouths, that could possibly speak the truth - if they
could, and but knew the truth to speak.
OH Adam, My Shamir, my literary Shaikh of Shaikhs,
you are my Galilee Flowers, whose sweet, yet wild cherry petals,
are softly blown in the moving wind of mind,
to effect change and transformation in the heart and souls of
men and women who receive,
to conceive, and bring forth child that is not still born,
your legs are strong and you have beautiful feet, fearing not to
speak,
and my heart burns in your name and flame to find you once
again,
consumed of love inside your passion for the Holy and righteous
ones,
the Holy and righteous ones,
that shall soon be born,
that shall soon be born,
just before the sun must rise,
and all the Eagle’s take flight to the sky,
Like Lazarus, you have been brought forth from the dead to live
all over again,
brought forth by the Master’s voice to cry aloud, and spare not
in commanding
what is right and forbidding what is wrong,
you sing the ancient song,
you sing the ancient song,
asking for new Cedar Trees of Lebanon,
to rebuild the devastated ruins,
of Palestine’s ancient and Holy Glory!
you are singing the long lost song of Israel’s great, historic,
and prophetic Martyrs,
its Jeremiahs, Ezekiels, and Isaiahs, who were sewn asunder,
buried and burned alive,
who came long before to show us all the way to pray,
who asked us not to stray,
who asked us not to stray.
and foretold of a better day to come,
rising with a new and Glorious Sun,
OH Adam, My Shamir, the studded and brilliant, multi-jeweled
crown on Palestine’s head,
A living lament and testament, in breath, of flesh, bone, and
blood,
for Palestine and her dying children,
a son of Israel weeping by the sea,
a son of Israel weeping by the sea,
and like Jonah sometimes sitting beneath a solitary tree,
Like Elijah, you have arrived and arisen like the wind in a
raging desert storm, a severe blast of torrent from the past,
blinding sand against the enemies of life and light, you now
blow into the storm of the ages with a voice that calls the
Intifada home to stand for their land in modern Palestine,
a son of Israel weeping by the sea,
a son of Israel weeping by the sea,
a son of Israel bowed down on bending knees,
arising to call on the world to once more believe,
Like Lazarus, you have been brought forth by the Master’s voice
resurrected to cry aloud and spare not, for you are the Shaikh
of all writers, a Prince of Is-Ra-El sent forth by the school of
the legendary mystic prophets on top of Mount Moriah, to teach
and preach this world once more, wide awake, there’s so much at
stake; and like John meeting Jesus, i am not worthy to untie the
latches of your shoes, yet baptize you i must, in this wind and
fire, to sanctify you in witnessing the dove that shall come to
proclaim your Holy anointing, and promised coming, your
appointment to make the earth stand still and listen once again
to Him who still walks in the cool of the evening, asking -
Adam, where art thou?
But this time you are not hiding in the cool of the evening
breeze;
this time you are standing tall in the blazing and searing heat
of open day,
brazen bold, and strong, and brave,
having a heart stronger than strong,
and a soul deeper than deep,
and i love to see you walking in the night,
because you glow in the dark,
and i am mesmerized by your lights,
so that i often stand dazed and immobilized,
forgetting my own.
2.
OH Adam, My Shamir, Shaikh of all writers, my long awaited
literary and political Ustad,
facing the madness of no caress for your people’s land - you
stand four cornered base squared, and you are declaring from
between the Two Gold Cherubim stretching their wings toward
directional front - THE ONENESS of life in no uncertain terms
that must be heard by the herd; the herded mentalities and
fatalities of,
little children who are shot down dead in the streets,
little children and babies - skulls, crushed in bone, by the
police officer’s rifle butt and feet,little children who will
never have an opportunity to know and grow,
little children who are cut down before having the chance to
become more,
little children who live where people’s homes are demolished
into oblivion and there is no where to go - where they and their
parents, and grandparents, and grandchildren, and
grandchildren’s children are driven to fear, estrangement, and
dispair, shot, maimed, cut, and torn to pieces, desecrated,
disrespected, blown apart, and raped, in any hour of the night
and the day, sometimes buried beneath a shallow grave of sodden
lonely clay.
OH Adam, My Shamir, my long awaited Prince from Mount Sinai, who
carries Aaron’s rod that budded, and the Tabernacle Curtains
that shall hang to protect all eyes from the Glory within,
OH Adam, My Shamir, son of Is-Ra-El returning, churning,
yearning, and ever burning on behalf of truth and righteousness,
serving before the angels who hold you up to take a determined
stand against injustice in the land - you are the New Psalm of
Hope, Salvation, Consecration, and Devotion, and no, you do not
have false notions, and what courage you possess for the
wretched of the earth, the dispossessed, you, who are not afraid
to stand in the sun while you dance a naked mad dance before the
ancient Ark of Covenant in the streets of Jerusalem all over
again.
OH Adam, My Shamir, my literary genius of the present age,
You are our King David come home and beloved of God once more,
And Michal could not, and did not laugh this time, but wept.
i know, because i saw you there,
a mad frenzied dance of paced distance,
of offering oblation, moving obeisance, and there was closeness,
with, and in romance, adoration, and circumstance without pomp,
but instead, ubiquitous ecstatic cries and luminous praise, of,
and to your God.
You Adam, My Shamir, the son of Is-Ra-El, i saw you there,
i stared at you while hidden behind the rocks and watched you
dance in quickened pace,
faster, and faster, of grace, and faster still, while twirling,
and whirling, your motion of rotation and steps now a blur,
earth and rhythm ONE, Sun, Star, and Moon, swiftly falling, YOUR
SPIRIT FLYING AWAY, your eyes closed tightly, your head held
back, your arms stretched out to your sides, and your face
became a Light, that lit up the Palestine Hills against the
Eastern Sky, and multitudes wondered in awe at your ecstasy,
dancing madly in frenzied ecstatic shouts, before Jerusalem
World, before the day turned into night,
and you were gazing with the eye of your heart at your Lord who
paid the price for your Palestinian brother’s land in full,
long before the present occupants arrived.
SIAM
11082003-5:58 AM.
|
