בכובד ראש התעצמו
כי בכובד לב יהללו
בימים האלו התחתנו
כי גורש גרשנו
בזאת קדימה הכריזנו
כי לאחורה השגנו
צמח תצמח על מעשה ידינו
כי באש נשרף מה היה לנו
With gravity we freed our country
for with sadness we will praise;
In those days we married
because surely we have divorced;
With 'this' we announce our way forward
when to the back we have arrived;
Surely sprout that burden of our handiwork
if in fire has burned that which has befallen us.
Wednesday 29 April 2009
Tuesday 20 January 2009
The Cost of Liberty
Sweetness of Liberty
so bitterly wrought
Its piercing call
sung in melancholic cacophony
Glorious victory bought with ignanimous downfall
triumph meets swift defeat
With our lives we pay her steep price
give me liberty and give me death
so bitterly wrought
Its piercing call
sung in melancholic cacophony
Glorious victory bought with ignanimous downfall
triumph meets swift defeat
With our lives we pay her steep price
give me liberty and give me death
Love's Child
That painful sorrow ensures
only bitterness is sought
for hate spawns hate
but love its likeness naught.
only bitterness is sought
for hate spawns hate
but love its likeness naught.
Haught and Circumstance
Haught and circumstance
your head so full of pomp
Your lofty gait
with nose held high
so sad the stench your own.
your head so full of pomp
Your lofty gait
with nose held high
so sad the stench your own.
Bound
Bound
by my past
these circumstantial chains
ephemeral yet mighty
illusory lock guarding phantasmal walls
My brow full of struggled sweat
to escape this loathsome jail
My hands writhe in pain
as the key digs into them
by my past
these circumstantial chains
ephemeral yet mighty
illusory lock guarding phantasmal walls
My brow full of struggled sweat
to escape this loathsome jail
My hands writhe in pain
as the key digs into them
The Dreaded Cold
I welcome the dreaded cold in whose dark thoughts I do lie
Despair be my honest friend; prove your worth faithfully
Foul stench becomes me; my effervescent reek profuse
Born wretched; corrupted still yet
If God damns not my immortal soul, of free volition will I.
Despair be my honest friend; prove your worth faithfully
Foul stench becomes me; my effervescent reek profuse
Born wretched; corrupted still yet
If God damns not my immortal soul, of free volition will I.
Thursday 15 January 2009
Secret Code
Even amidst pain and rejection, our deepest faith rings true. And even amidst our wildest triumphs, our strongest doubts, fears and alienations stand.
The dynamism of life doesn't allow us to be single minded, driven without the lonely angst of second guessing. Our purpose threatens stagnation, our ends drive wedges between our loves and ourselves. And amidst that sorrowful pain, that horrible bipartite division, that wretching discord, we achieve sight. Not of our some glorious higher version of ourselves; not of some ephemeral dream that knowingly eludes our tightest grasp; but that true sight whose prescience allows our darkest failures and our bravest triumphs.
That deep breath that for which we have fought so long and hard does not privilege us with any vain semblance of triumph. It may bring epiphanous relief, but in the same moment releases that steady stream of tears whose awesome specter holds its perhaps last but strongest sway over us.
And in that moment, we curse ourselves beyond the damnation that belongs only to the wretched. In that moment, where we truly grasp our highest image with our most perverse nature, a single voice emerges. Its beautiful contradiction our own, its poignant resolution ours as well.
That still small voice, clear and true, quietly screaming,
The dynamism of life doesn't allow us to be single minded, driven without the lonely angst of second guessing. Our purpose threatens stagnation, our ends drive wedges between our loves and ourselves. And amidst that sorrowful pain, that horrible bipartite division, that wretching discord, we achieve sight. Not of our some glorious higher version of ourselves; not of some ephemeral dream that knowingly eludes our tightest grasp; but that true sight whose prescience allows our darkest failures and our bravest triumphs.
That deep breath that for which we have fought so long and hard does not privilege us with any vain semblance of triumph. It may bring epiphanous relief, but in the same moment releases that steady stream of tears whose awesome specter holds its perhaps last but strongest sway over us.
And in that moment, we curse ourselves beyond the damnation that belongs only to the wretched. In that moment, where we truly grasp our highest image with our most perverse nature, a single voice emerges. Its beautiful contradiction our own, its poignant resolution ours as well.
That still small voice, clear and true, quietly screaming,
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