UNDER HER WINGS
Yishai Paquin
She crouches low, the sirens cry, No rest, no break from the very start. No time to grieve, no time to sigh. She builds a wall with her flesh and heart.
The baby stirs beneath her chest, Each breath a sacred flame. Her arms, a gate. Her body pressed. A shield from danger, not a game.
All her gates are desolate, they said, Jerusalem, the Queen laid bare. But here, one gate still bows her head, Protecting hope with whispered prayer.
O Banot Yerushalayim, Daughters draped in dust and light, You walked through fire, you sang through sin, And still you rise in the night.
The mothers of Zion do not flee, Though her young ones are gone from her side. Through wars of the past and those that will be, Fire, smoke, and ash, they will not let them die.
No temple walls, no Priestly song, Just broken voices in the air. From her stillness comes a Psalm That sits in the ruins like a prayer.
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