poem – The Tree of Life

Hope in the Skies

Look up,

for the hour draws near.

There is hope in the skies,

beyond what is imagined,

by the fear in our hearts.

There is a lasting generation

of humanity that will survive

the death and decay of the earth,

before the arrival of its revival.

The truth will transcend science,

and reason outlast the media’s

implicit portrayal of doomsday,

on the brink of tomorrow.

I shall not seek Hollywood’s

fantastic predictions on the screen;

nor, fear the earth-changes,

while my faith is intact.

I will do my part to hasten

the renewal of the earth;

and prevent the suffocation of sea turtles,

by not accepting plastic bags at the store.

My conscience clean, I will rest in quietude

every night in expectation of a dawn,

that will succeed man’s best efforts

to create harmony within the biosphere,

as G-d enacts a rescue plan.

Hope Surfaces

Hope, is the mainstay of my life

and the fruition of my thoughts.

Hope, will outweigh the strife

that weighs heavily upon my heart.

Hope, the champion of the future,

a prelude to ultimate victory.

Hope, is enough to suture

the wounds inflicted by misery.

Hope, will mend the broken fragments

of a life unduly shattered.

Hope, will diminish the lament

of those whose clothes are tattered.

Hope, designed to stich each patch

and sew together the unraveled strands.

Hope, will help to gather all who are lost,

like collecting so many grains of sand.

Hope, will meld with faith,

bridging the gap in between.

Hope obtained, will never fade,

always realizing the dream.

Let Faith Reign

And there’s a slow, slow train comin’ up around the bend.
Slow Train, by Bob Dylan

When society is upended,

and people are tormented,

take heart in your faith,

don’t let your soul go to waste;

there will be a slow train

coming around the bend.

Let faith reign in your heart,

don’t pretend to play the part,

when the mind is sincere,

and the pathway is clear,

there will be a slow train

on the tracks ready to start.

Let’s dare not be hesitant,

when opportunity prevails, take that first step,

look, the passenger door is open,

these tired souls that appear to be broken,

will be renewed on the slow train,

moving along the tracks.

Heaven Is Still Waiting

Living in the belly of the beast,

rising up from the vacant grave,

reaching towards the light from the East,

an angel from Heaven appears,

with a mission to save.

Crying out from a land of tears,

dying to ourselves every day,

casting away all of our fears,

gaining ground over the years,

as the enemy retreats the other way.

Opening up to the possibility,

of hope becoming permanently ingrained,

indelible as ink, on a deed of civility,

or the silver lining of a cloud,

that is translucent with sunbeams.

The sunflowers in the land of the living,

sway in tune with a heavenly chorus of angels,

and a myriad of people singing

the refrain of the song of Moses,

shining like golden bells.

Butterflies

Amongst the fields of sunflowers,

dreaming in the winds of change,

butterflies roam, partaking of the nectar.

Sweet dreams interrupted by a shift

in the pleasant breezes,

accompanied by dark clouds.

Nectar runs dry, and petals wilt,

as the resting places

of the fragile two-winged creatures,

disappear from the fields.

How many Ukrainian refugees,

who have taken flight,

from the devastation,

will be blessed with a new beginning,

in faraway places, where safety resides,

miles away from their homes?

My ancestors, with prescient insight,

migrated across the Atlantic Ocean,

before the flames of the Shoah

engulfed Bolechov, and took the lives

of those who remained in the shtetl.

Ghosts of the past cry out,

Release me, into the wind,

so that our memories

will not be forgotten.

Memories and Current Events

My recent poems have been written,

primarily in response to the Ukraine war.

Feeling, recently, that the tides of change

cannot be explained any further,

nor rearranged into coherent descriptions,

I sought to refrain from this endeavor.

Yet, my heart is overflowing,

teeming with complex emotions,

and my pen, figuratively speaking,

is writing (typing out) words again,

in response to the internal reservoir,

of all that remains to be said.

My muse? Ineffable, for He Knows all,

and is above and beyond all muses.

So, redeemed, is each word that I reckon,

as not my own, rather, from deep within,

a pool of reflection, tinged with a conscience,

and a consciousness, stemming

from the part of mankind’s soul,

that is connected to the Divine.

In addition to all this, I do not know

how I can even factor into the equation,

that Bolekhiv, my ancestral hometown,

is fifty-eight miles south of Lviv,

where several dozen of my relatives

were buried in mass graves,

during the Shoah.

The Call of Silence

As the tanks roll into the cities,

blue and yellow flags are waved high,

in defiance of the occupier’s atrocities,

while many finally flee with a sigh.

As the drama continues to unfold,

within the layers of recent history,

the territorial defenses stand bold

in the face of the assault and misery.

Echoes of past flights from death,

and narrow evasions of an untimely fate,

are interwoven with our every breath,

and surface in our own memories of late.

Our brothers and sisters who have fled

to the checkpoints, are now able to impart

a message of hope, despite all who have bled

silent tears within the confines of their heart.

Having travelled through many regions,

lives are reshaped, homes found for new arrivals,

across the boundaries of neighboring nations,

that were in flux, during past upheavals.

poem: Inner Grief

The eyes make no disguise

or pretense for the lies,

that fall vacant upon the ears,

that hear the explosions that sear.

As we serve to witness

the duress and stresses

of a people silently torn between

their homes and the need to flee.

poem: Seeking Solace

“As we step forward, they attempt to surround us; they intend to spread out across the country.” – Psalms 17:11, embellished

May the right arm of Your majesty, in all its effectiveness, assure victory for us over the challenges that we face each and every day of our lives. During this time of peril, whether starting our lives over elsewhere, or trying to remain hopeful in the midst of uncertainty, as we hunker down below the city streets, let us see the light of dawn breaking through our sorrows.

The prayers of the faithful will be sent to shomayim upon the wings of angels. We send even our most seemingly trivial concerns to Heaven; for, it is the small details of our lives, and the relatively inconsequential choices of our lives that appear to matter most at times. Once the important decisions have been made, the smaller ones appear in clear relief.

Like a picture-perfect day, not a cloud in the sky, may the realization of our dreams exceed our expectations. May our cities be rebuilt, and our lives resume, only stronger for having been through these traumatic experiences, and the overall devastation that has pummeled our cities. May we live to see the day when the seeds planted across the nation will bloom into tall sunflowers, always facing the light.

Note (FYI and Disclaimer): This a dramatic monologue. A dramatic monologue gives voice to those whom the poet chooses to give expression through the poem. Although I am a poet, and not a Ukrainian, I feel an affinity with the Ukrainian people, especially my Jewish brethren (i.e., brothers and sisters). Additionally, this is also a prose poem, and not a typical poem that has verses, stanzas or rhymes.