No Christmas In Bethlehem Poem by Uche Nwanze

Shelling and staccato spitting pellets of fire from the skies
Raining in torrents, a hailstone of tears
Rachel in anguish for her lost children
No peace where the Prince of Peace was born
The Manger of Miracle, now a museum of debacle
The Women of Jerusalem weep for their children
The curse of 'let His blood be upon us and on our children' taunts them like haunted ghosts
Weeping and wailing in the West bank
O beautiful city of Jerusalem, the blood of the prophets you killed cries out for vengeance
Mortars menacingly maiming mortals
The walls of Gaza, a pile of rubbles
A voice cries in the wilderness, why whip my people to Weep
The people who dwelt in darkness, their land laid desolate
Abigail beckons! 'Come over to Jerusalem and help us'
O ye beautiful gates, your city lies in ruins
Sleep has been slain, no room for the infant King to lay