These poems were inspired by my brief stay of two months in 2007 as the Lady Davis Visiting Professor at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. I found the university\u2019s Mount Scopus campus so labyrinthine that I lost my way to my office every day. Security was very tight and many students were armed and vigilant. There were signs of daily tragedies everywhere; rumours of pain inflicted and retaliation. The grey surrounding hills, however, were fascinating. Some were bone-dry and rocky; others were covered with olive trees. Did some magi or nabi still hold conversations in those mountains with Death? Or, were there only ruins of old prophecies left in those mountains waiting for an archaeologist of poetry? The texts published here were written in an attempt to find out if Georg Seferis was right when he declared that \u201cThere are always but two parties\u2014Socrates and his accusers.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
To acquire wealth: make the people prosper.<\/em> To make the people prosper: justice is the means.<\/em> O Kriti Narayana! They say that justice is the treasury of kings.<\/em> \u2014<\/em>Beddena Bhupaludu (1220\u20131280), a Telugu poet<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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In P<\/strong>raise of Those<\/strong> Who Search<\/strong> for P<\/strong>eace<\/strong><\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
Learn to predict a fire with unerring precision.<\/em> Then burn the house down to fulfill the prediction.<\/em> \u2014Czeslaw Milosz, “Child of Europe”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On the day of a peace demonstration, in the shadow of the security wall, the burden of clearing the cinders left behind from previous fires, becomes a little less heavy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIdolatry,\u201d<\/em> they chanted, \u201cis to look with<\/em> blank eyes in fear and without hope at<\/em> the face of another. Let this be the year of<\/em> dialogue with each other.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
And the soldiers behind stone walls shot the singers and shot them again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On the day of a peace demonstration, the task of watering the fields, left fallow from the days of curfews and barbed wires, can be performed with cupped hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWe never had the time to grow up,\u201d<\/em> they pleaded at the school gates. \u201cWe were<\/em> forced out of childhood into a political life.<\/em> Give us back our childhood.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
And the soldiers behind stone walls shot the school children and shot them again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On the day of a peace demonstration, linked hands at check-points grow from one and one and one, one and two, one and three, one and four, one and five, one and six, one and seven \u2026 till a utopian circle is formed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI want to die a shahid<\/em>,\u201d he boasted. \u201cI do not want to die,\u201d she said quietly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And the soldiers from behind stone walls shot them and shot them again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On the day of a peace demonstration, they recalled the rites of remembrance and loss \u2014 for every exile knows the sin of bones which lie bleaching in the desert sands. And lovers across barbed wires learn to recite this sacred rune:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWe should be enemies no more. We know<\/em> yes, we know why the gazelle whispered<\/em> to the morning breeze: \u2018to me this desert is<\/em> beautiful, these barren hills are holy land.\u2019\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
And the soldiers from behind stone walls shot the gazelle and shot it again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
If Security <\/strong>Walls Could Protect<\/strong><\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
… the kingdom of heaven by the force of stone.<\/em> \u2014A B Yehoshua<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On the grey security walls crawling over the hills of Jerusalem someone has painted over and over again in big, bold and red letters with a brush plucked out of fire:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDo justice, love mercy, walk humbly\u2026\u201d<\/em><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
Close your eyes in contrition, fold your hands in penance \u2026<\/em><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
After another deportation from another exile in the desert merchants of <\/em> vengeance shall arrive again with sacred syllables carved in charred wood <\/em>smelling of gunpowder and the grave other gods shall pour wrath on <\/em>Jerusalem lay waste all who dwell within its walls.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThis is an abomination,\u201d shouted the young commander of the special security forces standing on Zion\u2019s hill.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThe Lord gave us at the beginning of time the right to break bones and build our homes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In frenzy he commanded: \u201cLet these walls be their gravestones. Stop their keening with an iron fist.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And he ordered the soldiers to write again and again in big, bold and black letters with brands of burning tar:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThis is an abomination.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
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Alok Bhalla, a widely published critic, translator, and poet, has taught courses on literature, cinema, and art in Indian and foreign universities. He received the Foundation of SAARC Writers and Literature Award in 2023. He is enchanted by the sound of words and the enigma of stories. His personal essay “A Secular Pilgrimage” appeared in Auteur Limits.<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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