Bare Earth

This barren landscape of the mind,

where time renews only those who have hope

in the ways of the ancient past

treaded by the sages of ages that still last

for the sake of the preservation of our heritage;

this bare earth, devoid of nourishment

soil, depleted by the wars that have wasted the land,

and the shores of distant beaches,

where the sands of time drift into the sea;

even the biosphere cries out on behalf of the world,

to renew the manifold aspects of creation –

mankind, the task begins with us,

through the renewal of the soul.

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Hope Surfaces (revision)

When will I be free

from these shadows of the past?

When will I sing

of my freedom at last?

All that You have done for me,

is enthroned in my memory.

All that You are doing for your people,

will be enthroned for eternity.

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

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 contributing to the dream.

© 2023 all rights reserved

Our Brethren

“There shall no evil come to thee: nor shall the scourge come near thy dwelling.” – Psalm 91:10

No longer driven this way and that,

because we are given the blessing of adaptability

in times of war, when all appears lost.

And, in times of peace as well,

in our homes, and when all alone,

to remember our brethren and kin,

when we have no one to tell

our troubles to except for G-d.

The memories of ashes, everywhere,

like dust in the currents of wind,

that shift across the ages.

Yet, renewal is at hand,

across this war-torn land,

when we turn to the One above,

Who can reconcile our lives to Himself,

and absolve our sins of indifference

to both G-d and mankind.

© 2022 all rights reserved

In Sympatico

Oh L-rd,

only wisdom,

bright as your countenance,

will shed light on my wayward path,

tonight.

Tonight,

every night…

during the days of gloom,

when there is no room for this hope

to bloom.

To bloom,

like a flower,

transplanted from soil,

depleted by war’s cruelty,

and dearth.

And dearth,

leaves us scant food,

unable to nourish

our souls with everlasting hope,

and dreams.

And dreams,

vanish in sync

with the early morning

air raids, that signal a new day,

oh L-rd.

© 2022 all rights reserved

dverse prompt

Seek to Be

“The Blue Yellow Tree” by Vika Muse @get.muse In the artist’s own words:
“Escaping into the fantasy world helps to overcome the feeling of permanent anxiety caused by the war.”

Sending branches into the sky,

and roots down into the earth;

we seek to be lifted on high,

for all that we are worth.

In this world there is always a cost,

when the soul aspires to pursue

what freedom may bring, despite what is lost;

the body grieves, yet hope will ensue.

Dreams are the essence of ascent,

while our roots tether us to the ground;

inspiration keeps the goal in sight,

where our strength can be found.

We are nourished by our heritage,

our values, beliefs, and prayers,

even without the proper leverage

to move the mountains in our way.

Our trust in G-d Above will not diminish,

even in the midst of the flaming arrows of the enemy;

hope in an unseen future of peace is our wish,

even when lives are uprooted, dreams remain.

© 2022 all rights reserved

dverse prompt

Ukraine Blues

The surrounding countryside of Kiev, and other cities, such as Lviv, and even my own ancestral hometown, Bolekhiv, are quiet in the night, while the Russians prepare their next attempts to maneuver their positions, to be in alignment with their next forward march into the fray. By now, they know that they will continue to meet with resistance from the Ukrainian defenders. These are not nationalists, like the propaganda espoused by the Putin regime would have it known; rather, these are loyal citizens of a country that has been trying to gain its complete freedom for decades. True, it was Ukrainian nationalists in the midst of WW2, who were no friends of the Jewish population in Bolechov, Poland in 1939, when the Soviets retreated. However, the current generation of Ukrainians are not responsible for the sins of their ancestors.

After WW2, my ancestral hometown fell in under the new lines of demarcation, designating the city as Bolekhiv in the newly established boundaries of Soviet Ukraine. And, now, 58 years later, and, incidentally, fifty-eight miles south of Lviv, I wonder how far the smoldering torches of war have receded, or perhaps impeded upon the place where the graves of my ancestors rest. Of course, most of them, were actually buried in either one of two mass graves. The first, 7 km outside of Bolechov (now, Bolekhiv) in the Tanaiwa forest. The other, hastily made grave in the actual cemetery. This cemetery is the best preserved Jewish cemetery in Europe. I have always wanted to visit, since I “found” my ancestors through genealogical research. And, now, How am I to do so? Ultimately, if am able to do so in the future, will I be entering an independent Ukraine, or Soviet-controlled Ukraine?

My ancestors souls,

transcend earthly boundaries,

knowing only peace.

© 2022 all rights reserved

dverse prompt

Hidden Lives

From deep within a heart of stone,

lies the essence of a kernel, soon to bloom.

Behind these stony faces, tears run dry,

emotions hidden inside the outer shell,

where hope mixes with fear, and a suppressed cry.

The seedling will soon sprout,

when watered by tears of joy;

then, this plant will blossom in the sunshine,

of a new day, when faith reigns,

in the hearts of once lifeless ruins.

The stones from where the seedlings thrived,

will break away to reveal what was hidden inside –

people stepping out from beneath the earth,

to greet the sunrise with all that they are worth.

No more concealed in the basements below;

now, blessed to watch the sun’s glow.

© 2022 all rights reserved

prompt: the sunday muse

Heaven Awaits Us

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.

© 2022 all rights reserved

Tears

Each teardrop from Shomayim,

splashes into the reservoir of dreams,

ripples out in concentric circles,

across the dismayed nations,

into the hearts of mankind.

Our tears are His, pouring through us,

enabling us to retain our own sense of humanity;

for without tears, there are only stifled emotions,

wherein pain endures, unless expressed in words.

—– —– —– —– —– —–

I shall not refrain from writing,

nor from dwelling on what is uniquely tragic,

as long as my sense of compassion outweighs

any negative feelings that may arise,

in response to this burden, that I bear.

Such is our faithfulness towards G-d as well –

that He will bestow upon us a measure of faith,

commensurate with our ability to serve Him.

© 2022 all rights reserved

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.

© 2022 all rights reserved