Lauda, Jerusalem, Dominum

We stood on the Mount
to raise a sacrifice for you
and when we saw our hands rise
empty
we knew
that we were your sacrifice

Let the mortals fall
in the hands of their fellow mortals
You alone always remain
This confused pilgrimage
of those who are impermanent –
what concern is it of yours?

Our hands rise, empty
We are your sacrifice

Jerusalem/ Najwan Darwish (Palestina)

Just one minute. I want
to scream. I shot him. He advanced
with a suspicious face. Who knew his pockets
were empty, his bag full of clothes.

Perhaps he didn’t have a work permit,
or once stole across the border. Perhaps he didn’t hear
my hands shouting, the blood
pounding in the chest, knocking on my temples.

Sometimes he wakes in my sleep
hard as lead, empty as the wind,
he says to me: My killer,
I never knew
you were of that kind.

One minute/ Shai Dotan (Israel)

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