Poetry ww.aljazeerah.info
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The Prophecy of Europa
By John M. Marshall
May 23, 2004
(A Sibyl; one of the Oracles at Delphi)
I thrust my sword towards the sky,
as mournful cry escapes its anguished tongue.
Its hilt is stained with the tint of sorrow,
and from its blade drips children’s blood.
In shadowed streets I hear the screams
of infants stolen from their dreams
and put to death before their mothers,
as sisters for their youngest brothers
weep without constraint.
In hallowed halls where prayers are said
hollow words for the dead
who hear no more the beat of wings
nor the wind that daybreak brings
in scented waves of ecstasy.
My hand of dread, my sword in deed
has hastened from the house of bread,
as terror in most hideous form
strikes the toll of love’s demise.
Within my grasp the hours erode,
as rust engulfs the gears of time.
From my clasp the night spews forth
and chokes the dawn with its wintry shade.
Flowers fade, their colors scorned
by the fire that is my breath.
Hope dismembered, faith is flung
upon the pyre that is my shrine;
yet in a trice when life seems lost,
my sword shall rise like the morning star,
gently wake the child in death,
restoring mirth once drowned by tears.
The Cave of the Patriarch By John M. Marshall
In the land of Abraham,
the warriors are plowing the pastures
with guns and knives and vengeful swords.
The soldiers are tainting the temples
with blood and bones and sinful words.
Their legions are rifling the skies,
as they grimly soar on winds of vice.
Their squadrons are killing the clouds,
as they fly with dread on wings of rage.
Their battalions are choking the fields,
as they lay barren the fruits of justice.
Their raiders are stifling the guilds,
As they quell the flame of eternal truth.
What tears were wept at their mother’s death!
Where now is their dirge of grief?
What cries were heard at their mother’s grave!
Where now are the hymns of life?
The slayers are poisoning the flowers
in fiendish waves of perversity’s plague.
The butchers are razing the bowers
with the scourging flames of malevolent fire.
The intruders are trampling the grain,
as they march to the beat of dismal drums.
Their columns are crushing the eggs,
as they prowl to the toll of mournful bells.
Their lancers are cleaving the ears
of infants they rape with tongues of wrath.
Their brigades are blighting the dreams
of children they maim with tongues of scorn.
What somber storms was their father’s shroud!
Where now are the foes of darkness?
What sadness a father bears into death,
as brothers forget the Champion of Light?
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| Earth, a planet hungry for peace |
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| The Israeli apartheid (security) wall around Palestinian population centers (Ran Cohen, pmc, 5/24/03). |
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| The Israeli apartheid (security) wall around Palestinian population centers in the West Bank, like a Python. (Alquds,10/25/03). |
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