Freedom

Freedom Quenched

The common blunder of mankind, is to not inquire;

group think will render us helpless, to be plundered in the mire.

Under common rule, the populace is deceived;

living under tyranny, all are suspect, no one is believed.

North Korean defectors speak of outlandish tales;

unknown to Westerners in a world of opportunity and sales.

Russian emigres still live in fear of KGB reprisals;

Holocaust survivors shudder at current antisemitic uprise.

The souls of my ancestors call out in admonition from the grave;

testimonies of Shoah atrocities, generations bear the pain.

Like cattle led to the corral, people may become docile;

the herd mentality, the bovine mind, becomes servile.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Freedom Regained

The soul of the global citizen suffers at the helm of its own ship;

in the view of the technocracy, we are nothing more than a radar blip.

A country divided is conquered, as a dystopian world becomes united;

conformity does not equal harmony, in a land that has been blighted.

Nothing seems to be clear, when living in a state of confusion;

where the fires of injustice, fan the flames of societal transformation.

Quietly smoldering since the 1960’s, this smoking cauldron

gains a foot in the door, in the name of the common good.

As this country crumbles, morphs, and folds;

the banished voices will linger, unless boldly told.

The heart will continue to yearn for more than empty promises;

in order to transcend a materialistic world, truth must not compromise.

Forgotten Possibilities

Photo by Donald Giannatti on Unsplash

Many places, arrived at by life’s choices,

concretized in time, once a decision’s made.

A multitude of possibilities, cast aside,

in favor of the one, that changes everything.

A blanket of snow in winter, covers

all growth, that has since decayed.

Spring brings renewal to the heart and mind;

consolation to the cobwebs of the past.

Summer bears the burden of responsibility,

when all is brought to the light of truth.

In preparation for the autumn leaves,

that will fall gently to the ground.

These natural cycles are determined

by less factors than our own choices.

I was once given “a round tuit,”

a constant reminder of silence.

Consolation

I await the time,

when our sorrow shifts to joy;

with words of comfort.

Inasmuch that I am inclined by my pensive nature to perpetual reflection, if not melancholy, when the Hebrew month of Av arrives, I look forward to the demarcation between sorrow and joy on the fifteenth of the month, known as Tu b’Av. The month begins with solemn and intense mourning for the destruction of both the first and second Temples, culminating on Tish b’Av – the ninth of Av – the date on the Hebrew calendar when both Temples were actually destroyed, about 6oo years apart from each other. Yet, Tu b’Av is a day of joy, for almost inexplicable reasons; moreover, on the first Sabbath after Tish b’Av, we begin the readings from the prophets that have to do with consolation.

And, so, while the month recalls a world in turmoil, that brought down our sacred building, where the presence of G-d dwelt, we acknowledge that the Jewish people have always rebuilt after times of disruption. Chaos and order was the natural order of progression, beginning with the Creation, when order prevailed over chaos; at least, up until the time of mankind’s expulsion from Gan Eden, after the first act of disobedience towards G-d. Yet, all yearn to return to Him, even if that yearning expresses itself in pathways that sidetrack the route prescribed for return. A wake up call is sometimes necessary to jar ourselves, that we might be shaken out of our confines, to realign with the Divine.

Called

Called, in one moment of divine inspiration,

by the One who reaches down from seventh heaven,

with His right hand, to guide the contrite of heart

to safe shores, where rest may be found

from the tumults of life that endanger the soul,

bringing light to those bound in the darkness

of the world, unable to find their way.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

I was constrained by cords of mental bonds,

trapped by the Deceiver, and secured in the lair

of the Adversary, until G-d freed me from my shackles,

appearing as my redeemer within the lion’s den,

where I would have been torn, rendered into pieces,

had He not shown me a way out of the arena,

and brought me to safety, after crossing the sea.

Silence of the Pearl

Focused on my own comfort,

like an oyster, easily irritated

by a grain of sand in its home,

I seek to minimize the pain.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

The many coatings of calcium carbonate,

secreted as a self-defense mechanism,

create a shiny lustrous pearl, treasured

by the human aesthetic appreciation.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Shall this not serve as a lesson,

for myself, and others as well,

who can transform sorrow into joy,

suffering into divine silence?

Plea of the Pearl

There is something greater, than can be imagined, on the other side of the Veil. Something beyond compare to anything that can be found in this world. Yet, you continue to dive for pearls, as if treasures can only be manifest by searching the seas.

Our tears of compassion will be dried by the angels. Yet, you are heartless, and say, “No, I do not weep at the world – I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife” (1).

Those who weep for the poor, downtrodden, and voiceless, will be comforted when the Kingdom appears at dawn. Yet, your myopic focus on self, will not be rewarded on the Day Judgment.

Cast away your ambition, for the sake of Heaven, and search for the lost souls, whose renewal will bring you joy. For, “to save a life, is as if an entire world will be saved” (2).

(1). Zora Neale Hurston, from “How Does it Feel to be Colored Me” in World Tomorrow (1928)

(2). Jerusalem Talmud, Sanhedrin 4:1

poem: Dawn 2

Biding my time, in syncopation
with the angels fluttering by,
outside of my window, during the day,
and receding into heaven by dusk.

They will return to gather the elect
children of G-d, waiting in patience
for the darkness to pass at last,
revealing the truth on High.

At dawn, we will be lifted into the air,
transcending once and for all,
this world of tears, and sorrow –
transformed into our true selves.

poetry: hisbodedus

Early morning reverie

transitions into a prayerful melody

of lost causes, fallen hopes,

unrealized dreams,

and unfulfilled potential,

all transformed into words

uplifted, elevated like sparks,

redeemed from the crucible,

By the promise of a new day.