HORIZON 5 - PEACE POETRY:

International Peace Poetry
Peace Poems from Israel
Leave Lebanon in Peace

I

INTERNATIONAL PEACE POETRY

The peace poetry of Poets from around the world were read at the IFLAC RABIN London Conference (March 2002). Those who were present and read their own poetry, and those who sent their poems to be read, raised their voices together, to speak out against violence and its calamitous effects upon the human soul. The following poems are also poems of hope that point to the human ability to move on, to build a new future and a new life out of the shattered past.

The poems address various poignant issues concerning conflict and cultural aspects. Some are spirited statements that demonstrate courage, others protest at the perpetration of wars and others mourn their human losses. Together, these works reveal a deep consciousness of both the effects of violence and the necessity to abolish it. These writers cry together in a loud and moving voice for love and for peace, instead of violence and wars. Searching for peace and the creation of a World Beyond War, they poignantly point the way for the rest of us.

 

Eric Poersch - Canada:

PETRIFIED TEARS

To the tune
Of the throbbing Lyre
Of peace after war,
Looking at you
I felt precious stones
Shaped as tear-drops
Falling from my eyes.

When they shattered
On the patio floor,
I saw you dressed
In a rainbow.
The heat of the sun
Consummated us all,
The monsoon came
Washing the earth,
Washing the sky,
With a rainbow Tabernacle
Of peace and love
Cleansing our souls.

 

 

Cheshmak Farhoumand - Iran and Canada:

PEACE SONG

Moonbeams lit the evening sky
Previously graced by sundrops,
Waves crashed against the velvet sand,
Wind whistled its lullaby melody.
My senses were alive that night
In awe of beauty and perfection.
The light of the moon brightened my eyes
Wind ran through my hair,
Gently caressing my face and arms
While waves whispered peace songs in my ear.
And the sand below my naked feet
Warm as a sundrop,
Cool as a moonbeam,
Echoed my thoughts of peace.
Surrounded by beauty
I am but a dewdrop
In this vast canvas called creation.

 

 

Rodney D. Coats:

SHIPS AND BRIDGES
Umoja: unity through love, peace, understanding and respect

Soft breezes bridge the gap,
graceful rivers of understanding.
Unspoken words of friendship and
kindness ships against the waves.
Starlight moods and conversation,
laughter, fun and joy.
Ancient souls again reborn,
through open hearts and doors.
When silent screams break through the night,
tortured lives report.
Brilliant lights make known the darkness,
again we find each other's spirit.
Blue soft skies painted with kiss,
hope flies to those who weep.
Bridges and ships cross the void,
built with love, respect and understanding.

 

 

Rosemary Wilkinson - President WAAC: The World Academy of Arts and Culture, USA:

SISTER

We create this vine:
Meetings, Greetings,
Embracing as mothers.
And Women poets
Only know,
Causing jasmine to
Bloom all around
from your love
My sister.
May it blossom
May it live within
You freely, fully...

Tears rise from depths
When I read
"A bridge of Peace"
As you address your
Arab sister
Building a bridge from
Her orange world to yours,
Above the region's
Acid rains full of pains.
I can scarcely read
With the blurring of
These eyes.

 

 

Anton Shammas - Palestinian Poet:

BURIAL SERVICE

Please wait until I'm ready.
It will take time, precious time,
And you are cold there of course, where you stand,
But - how should I say -
We both have to be shrouded, especially me,
What do you say?

What do you say? I said.
Never mind, our hearing will become more acute
And we'll turn keen ears to each other's murmurs - later.
I will not give sleep to mine eyes
Never again!
Nor a single slumber to my eyelids,
For I'll always be on guard.
Cross my heart.
I will. Always on my guard.
And it'll take time, as I said, precious time,
But everything, as you know, comes to an end.
And you - how should I say -
Will stay put, down the road,
A creditor who has found a place to collect.
Found a place, and is waiting for the dead to rise!

The dead being me. Being me - I said -
Never mind, you too are hard to hear, sometimes,
Through all those shrouds.
But please, hold tight. Don't give up, I say.

What d'you say? Don't you hurry?
I'll be right there. Here you are.

Late a bit, I have to say,
But you must admit -
Quite an achievement for a dead man!

 

 

Rabindranath Tagore - India:

STREAM OF LIFE

The same stream of life
that runs through my veins day and night
runs through the world
and dances in rhythmic measure.
It is the same life
that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass
and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.
It is the same life
that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth and death,
in ebb and flow.
I feel my limbs are made glorious
by the touch of this world of life.
And my pride is from the life-throb of ages
dancing in my blood at this moment

 

 

Mary Barnes Bruce:

PEACE

It's swelling now
like the seed before it sprouts
which only makes mark.

Furtive as deer in shadows
who cast eyes in brush,
peace will gather until
that moment like a child bursting
into a room. Flung doors,
scuttered dust until all
is wind shot through with light.

 

 

Dr. Anwar Al-Ghassani:

FAMILY TALK
For Mohammed Sami Jarjis Bek Al Ahmed Pasha*

You never matured and remained stripling
Tired from mold and fire,
Among papers, inks and punchers,
And that silly thorn at the window,
Divided between probable happiness and our faces,
Carrying plates and calligraphy,
And love for Umru El-Kais**
Relating curious tales.

But your lucid mind perceived our search,
So you joined us
Coloring houses and birds.

Now I realize,
Since you are cheerful,
you will decline my proposal
To freeze you
In a statue.

*) My father (1911-1986). Mohammed Sami: my father's combined name; Jarjis: my grand father; Bek: a lower nobility title during the period of the Ottoman Empire. Iraq was part of the empire until the British occupation in 1917. Al: from (belonging to) the family. clan, tribe; Ahmed: my grand-grandfather; Pasha: highest nobility title, he was a general in the Turkish army.
**) Umru El-Kais: One of the seven greatest Arab poets of the period before Islam.

---

Dr. Anwar Al-Gassani is an Iraqi poet living in Puerto-Rico.

 

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"The most potent weapon of the oppressor is the mind of oppressed."

- Steven Bico -

 

II

PEACE POEMS FROM ISRAEL

 

Yehudit Zilberstein:

COME LET US MEET

Come let us meet
At the crossroad
Like isotherms
Joining different and common
In a meteorological map

Come let us meet
At the crossroad
like isotopes
Not otherwise
Chemical elements
Different and similar

Come let us meet
Like Esau and Jacob
Without pride
Sold for bowl

 

 

George J.Farah:

INVITATION
(Translated into English from Arabic by the poet)

Sacred is my fathers' land
And holy it is to me,
As your fathers' land is sacred,
And holy is to thee.
My love toward my children
Is just as great as yours
I look toward a sunny day
As you prefer and choose.

So give me your hand
And hand by hand
Let's build our
Generous homeland
That always gives
And never prevented,
That always forgives
And never lamented.
Let's then surpass
That entangled image,
And come forth to establish
Our global village.
I'm calling you brother,
Just lend me an ear,
Hear me and help me
To stop that tear.

And turn our swords
to ploughs,
In a land satiated with blood,
A land in which we both
Are deeply planted,
A land with which we are
Deeply in love.

I'm calling you brother,
May earth recall my echo
And silence that gun
So you comprehend
How I wish to be back home,
To my garden, to my olive tree
The same as you do.

 

 

Rachel:

LOCKED GARDEN

Who are you?
Why does a stretched hand
Not find a sister hand?
Eyes linger for one instant
Then swiftly, confusedly cast down.
A locked garden
No path towards it.
No way.
A locked garden - man.
Should I leave?
Or should I hit the rock
Till I bleed.

 

 

Rachel:

I PLANTED YOU IN MY GARDEN

I planted you in my garden
In the secret garden
Of my heart.
Your fruit wreathed
And your roots deepened
In me
From dawn to night
Garden will not be silent
Will not rest -
It is you in it,
You in it
With your thousand birds
Singing.

 

 

Zelda:

EVERY ROSE

Every rose is an island
Of promised peace.
In the eternal peace
In every rose
There dwells
A bird of sapphire
Whose name is 'Ve Kitetu'-
Whose name is peace.
The light of the rose
Seems so near,
So near its fragrance,
So near is the silence
Of its leaves,
So near
The island -
Take a boat
And cross the sea
Of fire

 

 

Zelda:

A BLACK ROSE

Have my longings sprouted
The black rose
You gave me
In my dreams?
Or your yearning
Penetrated new heart in the form
Of a flower
From the hidden world
Into my dreams?

And why did I suddenly
Ask you for earrings?
A thing I never did
When you were
In the land of
The living

 

 

Shin Shalom:

THE MAN

I walked alone on the mountains,
And behold a man confronts me

I raised my eyes to look at him
And he turned and followed me

I opened my mouth to speak
And his dumbness choked my voice

I hurried back home
And his steps accompanied me

I took up my pen and sat at my table
And his hand rested on mine

I turned off the light, and covered myself with a blanket
And his heart thumps in the darkness

I peeped at him through the shadows
And he is in a wreathy vineyard among the leaves

I mused silence - has the vineyard blossomed?
He then laid a stone on my heart.

 

 

Shin Shalom:

CREATION OF THE WORLD

All the foundations for the creation of the world
Are suddenly present in me
Flashing flame by flame

To make of all a blazing torch
Come you here,
Love.

 

 

Shin Shalom:

WHEREVER I GO

Wherever I go I hear steps
- My brothers on the roads, in swamps, in woods -
Burdened with darkness, trembling from frost.
Chased by flames, plagues and fears,
In rain, in snow, in storms, in tempests.

Wherever I stand I hear knocks,
- My brothers in stocks, in desolates' cells -
Walls separate and silences burst,
From generation to generation their echoes cry out
In the camps of torture, in the ghost's graves.

Wherever I lie I hear voices
- My brothers carried, cattles to slaughter -
From my poker fire, from my islands ruin,
From the cities and towns - altars for sacrifices;
The howl of their loss terrifies my nights.

My eyes cannot stop seeing them,
My heart cannot stop shouting: Abomination!
All of man will be summoned for their death,
All heavens above will still descend to lament them.
And the whole world a monument on their grave.

 

 

Leah Goldberg:

LONELY DRUM

They loved me very much
Until I was brought to the gallows,
They loved me very much,
But I was brought to the gallows.
They did not say if good or bad
The day I was taken to the gallows,
And so happened what happened
And I was brought to the gallows.

Sole drum, sole drum
Raps in the town,
Lonely drum, lonely drum
To the end of town,
Lonely drum, lonely drum
Rolls in the road,
Today the dead will be buried
And nobody cries.

I was brought to the gallows
The forests were silent,
I was brought to the gallows
The rivers were silent.
I was brought to the gallows
All the streets were silent
I was brought to the gallows
None came out of the houses.

Sole drum, sole drum
Clamours in the town,
Lonely drum, lonely drum
To the end of the town,
Lonely drum, lonely drum
Rolls in the roads
Today the dead will be buried
And there is no shroud.

 

 

Erez Biton:

FALLEN SOLDIER IN THE MIDDLE EAST
A father (Jewish or Arab) mourning the death of his son.
Translated from Hebrew: Ada Aharoni

And we, what are we?
Just wandering souls
Like foundations of crumbling houses

And I wished that you'd be
An olive tree
That blossoms and promises fruit
That bears within it a riddle
Of ripe and age.
And I wished that you'd be
A palm tree
Rooted by the banks of flowing rivers.

And I know they'll all come now
To praise and persuade...
But all I wish for is that you be
That you be
Here

 

 

Yehuda Amichai:

THE BUS STATION

The bus that will take me home
Will take you away from it.
We shall never meet.
The tin plate
With the number
Will ring in the wind
Like my heart.

 

 

Yehuda Amichai:

BATTLEFIELD RAIN

It rains on my friends' faces
On my living friends'
Blanket-covered heads
And on my dead friends'
Uncovered faces.

 

 

Yehuda Amichai:

ON YOM KIPPUR

On Yom Kippur in the year Tashkah
I wore dark festive clothes
and ambled to the old quarter
in Jerusalem.
I stood a long time
before an Arab's nook-shop,
not far from the gate of Shchem,
a shop of bottons and zippers
and rolls of thread
of all colours,
and tic-tacs and buckles.

A bright light shone forth,
with many colours,
like an open tabernacle.
I told him in my heart
that my father too
had a shop like his
of threads and bottons,
I explained to him in my heart
about all the decades of years
and the causes and the events,
that I am now here
and my father's shop is burnt there
and he is buried here.

When I finished
it was closing time.
He too pulled the blind
and locked the gate.
And went back home
with all those
who went to pray.

 

 

Amir Gilboa:

IN THE DARK

If they show me stone
And I say stone
They say stone.

If they show me wood
And I say wood
They say wood.

But if they show me blood
And I say blood,
They say paint.

If they show me blood
And I say blood
They say paint.

 

 

Amir Gilboa:

ISAAC

Toward morning
The sun went out for a walk in the forest
With father and me
My right hand in his left

Suddenly, like lightning
A blade flashes among the trees
I am terrified by the fear in my eyes
Facing the bloody leaves.

Father, father, hurry save Isaac
So no one will be missing at the noon meal

It is I who is being slaughtered, my son,
My blood is already smeared on the leaves
Father's face paled
His voice died
I wanted to cry out,
Writhing not to believe
I tore my eyes out
Then woke up

And bloodless, deathlike, was my right hand.

 

 

Amir Gilboa:

I OPENED MY DOOR

I opened my door
And many many crowded to come in.
I therefore pushed away
The walls of my room
To welcome all my guests,
And my room became the home
Of many comers,
And my room became the world.

 

 

Amir Gilboa:

WHO DID EVERYTHING IN TIME?

Who did everything in time, neither did I,
Even after time.
And all the time present past
In flashes of liquid moments.
With me,
Even the high mountains
Liquefy!

 

 

Fuaz Hussein - A Druze Poet (Khurfeish, Galilee):

MOURNING

Tears flow
and wet the autumn leaves
ub cloudy winter
my eyes are shut
listening to the weeping
and people ask:
"What, who and how?"

I will not see you anymore...
Always I devoted and cultivated family man.
The dove that fluttered in front of my window
in the midst of the night, is with the dawn
engaged.

Please let me beg forgiveness
and hear my prayer shrouded in farewells...
May you rest in peace.
Sorrow and despair overflow my heart
it is natural for man to die...
but not this way...
oh my grief!
oh my pain!
the parting from you hurts and burns' my friend;
hurts and burns!

 

 

Edna Aphek:

JACOB AND ESAU

I hear the smell of your garments
Esau coming from the field
The yelling of your eyes
A kneeling
And Jacob keep reading the book

 

 

Edna Aphek:

TO BE EN-WOMBED

Not to be enwombed,
Not to touch from within
To know ----
That
We are just embryos
In the womb of death.

The offsprings of Jacob and Esau
Keep killing the dead
Between deaths.

 

 

Shimon Weinroth:

FRONTIERS

Where are our young sons
Securing the border
Now some are dead and gone forever
Gone to heaven
Their honor survives them
Their memory embalmed

But what was the meaning
Was it worthwhile

I spit on secure borders
That kills so many young
Impaled
Entrails ripped out
Stuffed with beliefs
Borders forever

Bury the dead at check posts
To warn against illegal entry
Still walls, of fences of dead
Grow moans lament continues

Iron curtains and steel forts
Keep out the fog, turn back
nimbus clouds and speckled butterflies
shut down radios, dam electronic waves

yet some get through
and others are stopped
this is the border, this is the mark
that means my land your side

I thought that everything was settled
But what do we do about waters that flow
And fauna that wander about
Shoot down cumulus and cirrus clouds
And storks that bring good tidings

Check posts make good soldiers
Is it true -
Only bloodied agreements
Recognize frontiers

 

 

Mike Scheideman:

ANOTHER PEACE POEM

Peace is a lotus rose unfolding in the stirrings of a pool
But too often it stays stillborn in the bud
Or is brutally unpetalled by an earthly violence.
We have lost the symmetry of a lily on the pond.
We can span whole waters with intricate structures. Bridges
Breach cultures and sundry distances between peoples
Yet we cannot bring together again our fragments that bob
And sway; the disintegrated reflections of you and I.

Let us not blame the elemental chaos that threatens us,
Imposes emptiness, confuses and confounds us.
Seasons change with the winds; nature transforms one thing
From another. Only man knows how to destroy irrevocably.
We begin with the shipwreck of our wishes on oceans of desire.
Then dreams become illusions and we unleash untold furies
And those told in unrelenting fantasies. Will burning swords
Allow us to come together again in the garden of our Eden?

And we might live in Eden if only we knew it. We only know
How to sharpen our cunning; to glory in our imaginings
So that we can survive in the complicated place we have made.
Children cry; old men moan and women beat their chests.
Do we dwell in a godforsaken world lost and abandoned
By the greatest creator of all? As we float upon the waters
Where once there was light and on which man once walked
We grasp at the stars and lose sight of a raft called peace.

 

 

Ada Aharoni:

A BRIDGE OF PEACE
"They shall sit every man under his vine and under his fig tree, and none shall make them afraid." (Micha, 4,4)

"He who walks with peace, walk with him" (Koran, Sura 48)

My Arab sister
let us build a wonder bridge
from your fig tree and vine to mine
above the boiling pain
of the Intefada

Tagrid, my Arab sister,
when will we laugh again
like two women
instead of weeping
on our sons' stones?

You and me, Tagrid, my friend,
on this wonder bridge
from your culture to mine
from my culture to yours
in the fragrance of blossoming jasmine
holding hands
whispering secrets about our loves,
our children, our parents, our plans,
and our deepest, deepest yearning
for a bright free sky
crowned by twinkling peace stars.

I do not want to be your oppressor
you do not want to be my oppressor,
or your jailer, or my jailer,
we do not want to make each other afraid
under our vines and under our fig trees
blossoming on a silver horizon
above the bruising and bleeding
of our children
by stones, bullets and scuds.

So, my Arab sister,
let us build a sturdy bridge
of tolerant jasmine understanding,
where each shall sit with her baby
under her vine and under her fig tree
AND NONE SHALL MAKE THEM AFRAID.

 

 

Ada Aharoni:

BIRTH PANGS OF PEACE
Dedicated to the Memory of Yitzhak Rabin

You were right Rabin -
innocent people fed with scrap-bones of lies,
like cruel jungle animals
fight against the vision of peace
as if it were a war

You were right Rabin -
and we, the mavericks of discussions
riding blind sacred cows,
forget with the swiftness of the wind
that time flows only in one direction.

You were right Rabin -
when pregnant mothers
are killed
when praying men
are murdered -
frontiers melt.

In this cursed, cursed war
in which you fell -
a new phoenix is born
breath-taking in its beauty,
lovingly nursed
by millions of tears
and songs of children

Newborn Shalom suddenly
spreads its multi-colored wings
in the heart of Middle Eastern
golden sunshine and flies.

 

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III

LEAVE LEBANON IN PEACE

By Ada Aharoni

11 Poems, Inspired from Letters of Israeli Soldiers while in Lebanon

 

I'M NOT RETURNING HOME

I'm so sorry, my love,
I'm not returning home
for I can't return
home

I love you so,
want to be with you so,
but somewhere there -
among Lebanon's majestic cedars
so far from you my love -
I was hit by a murderous bullet
in the very center of
the fallow of my heart
where I first fell for you -
and fell forever.

I so want to be with you my love,
so want to hug you
my love, my life -
but cannot return home.
They have uselessly, pitifully,
spilled my young life, my blood,
under Lebanon's blue sky,
and now I cannot,
just cannot
return home.

 

 

THE HELL WITH WAR

They announced a cease - fire
But we continued to bomb
The Beyrut Airport
And the streets and the houses,
What is it with us?

I loathe killing, I hate destroying,
Horrible, pitiful war!
Why should we allow them
To force us to be here?
And what hence?
And when will it end?
The Hell with War!

 

 

MR. PRIME MINISTER WHEN WILL THE NIGHTMARE END?

Mr. Prime Minister, when will the nightmare end?
What absolute misery -
I want to go home!
Instead of home's warmth -
anguished cold in my frozen bones
while watching the dreadful shock of a man
who has just discovered his dead wife's body
under his wrecked home ...

We came back from the nightmare
with horror in our hearts and imploring in our eyes -
Mr. Prime Minister, we were born
for creation, for joy and life - not for destruction!
Please, Mr. Prime Minister, end this nightmare that really kills -
and not only in nightmares.

 

 

SECURITY IS A SIAMESE TWIN

For our security, our safety -
we will break their teeth,
for our security, our safety,
we will throw tons of bombs
on their heads and on their safety,
on their orchards
and on their vines,
on their houses and on their pride -
all this only for our security.

But where is our security, our safety?
And what about their security, their safety?
In truth, our security and their security
Are Siamese Twins -
In reality, you can't hit one
without the other.

 

 

THE LIE THAT EXPLODED

That night that big lie exploded
in my heart and in my mind
shattering all my limbs and all my values.

The big lie that violence can stop conflicts
exploded in the very depth of my heart together with the bombs -
And that explosive night my dreams exploded
With the lie.

 

 

WHEN WE WILL GO BACK HOME

When we will go back home
They will not trick us anymore,
When we will return home
We will show them
What peace is

When we will go back home
We will hug our joyful wives and children,
And we will try to forget the sadness
In the eyes of their wives and children,
We will try, we will try very hard -
But I know we will never
Forget.

 

 

BACH IN BEYRUT

A moment of harmony in Beyrut -
We suddenly heard from one of the houses
Bach music beautifully played -
The whole company stopped
to hear the music.

The pianist played beautifully
and the whole company stopped and
listened to the exquisite harmony.
The bombs did not succeed to stop us -
but a sixteen year old girl
playing Bach music
stopped us!

 

 

AMPUTATED HAND

A young boy runs to me
and asks for a sweet,
he spreads his amputated arm
without a hand -
"Who did that to you?"
I ask aghast,
"Entum!" - "You!"
he answers timidly -
his apologetic bashfulness strangles
my shocked shame.

 

 

FEAR FROM A MOSQUITO

We are forced to be policemen
of a population that hates us -
conflicts between Moslems, Christians and Druze,
thorny, entangled conflicts among them -
yet they all agree on one thing -
they all hate us!

We have entered a muddy morass
in which we are drowning -
Oh God! What a mess!
And in the end
we only found a mosquito -
but its bite kills,
and we shouldn't be here!
Oh God! What a mess,
Four Mothers, please save us!

 

 

A MOTHER'S LETTER

You will not build a nest
dear Gili,
every night you return to me,
and your silent cries
silence my heart,
"Mother, mother, help me!"
And I cannot

I can only caress the rugged stone
over your bones,
as I used to caress your soft curls
before sleeping ...

 

 

LEAVING LEBANON IN PEACE

Can be sung to the music of "Let My People Go!"

When soldier sons were in Lebanon Land,
Let the soldiers go!
They suffered so much they could not stand,
Let the Soldiers go!
Go up Mothers, liberate your soldier sons,
Biblical Revka, Sarah, Leah, Rachel -
Let our sons go!

The soldiers under the cedar trees
Heard the four mothers in joy -
Leave Lebanon, Leave Lebanon
Leave Lebanon in Peace,
They sang and laughed in joy -
Go home soldiers,
Go home to Israel Land
And leave, and leave
Leave Lebanon in Peace!

Copyright: Ada Aharoni - Haifa, 2001

 

"Only when lions have historians will hunters cease being heroes."

- African proverb -

 

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