Now where Christ was born
Of a humble make and trek and talk
And heal
Men and women trek in hand
A walking stick that stabs
And where brothers live and peace prevail
They now quarrel and fight
Forgetting the travails in the garden
In the boat and to the desert.
If Christ would now come back to Bethlehem
Or Nablus, he'd be greeted with knives
And guns and bombs and pebbles
He will leave and shake the dust behind
And go to Jerusalem
Only to find it a cauldron of war
And disciples conscripted, armed
Wounded and maimed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem