Independent State (O Israel) Poem by Alexandra Reiss

Born from song—
Streets as uneasy as your ancient stones.
Many holy men have walked these streets—
And now?
There are no holy men anymore. Still
Every man wants
to call you home.

Were you promised away,
In a pact intoned to ancient ears,
to a wandering people, long ago?

You who have infinite secrets written on your walls,
You who never tell but keeps all secrets
Tucked in cracks and
Corners of the mind.

I have never turned this corner, walked this alley:
Name spelled in letters I cannot read but
Understand they are as old as sand and stone—
But in a way I am home.

Thousands more are aching to be here,
To inhabit your doorways, to conduct business in your markets.
Some days you are envied, frantically desired;
Other days you are despised.

Every moment someone is crying for you, someone praying,
Someone killing, someone dying.

For one born in song,
Existence is sung inharmoniously.