I see at them as they pass me on the street
Strange Strangers
"Jaffa Gate"
My companion tells me.
Lovely old stones
Yellow brown in the sunlight.
Why do they feel so comfortable to the eye?
What is there about the even uneveness of their pattern
That so soothes the brain?

Strange strangers

I look at them as they pass me on the street "Mercy Gate" My companion tells me Quiet it stands there Serene It's arc of stone touching somehow A chord of archaic memory In me Calling back Back to what I can't remember For what I never knew I had So how could I have lost it? I look at them as they pass me on the street Strange strangers Do they remember? I look into their faces, behind their eyes To see If I can see What they are seeing. I do not see. I do not know what is the pattern of the thought That makes the furrow I do not know what is the pattern of the thought That makes the smile I do not know the meaning of the words That shape their lips. Strange strangers pass me by on the street Dressed in miles of black cloth Embroidered in red, Yellow and white To them its beautiful, I suppose These miles of black shapeless cloth That pass me in the street, Strange strangers. There is a word they say that we spell A L L A H They spell it in twirls and whirls I cannot read And pronounce it in a way I cannot hear the way they hear it Nor say the way they say it Not mean the way they mean it There are tastes they taste My tongue would spit right out There are sounds that they call song To me is jargonned chaos. They are people, these strangers Who squat on the ground much closer to it than I Who rarely even bends to pick a flower People made of flesh and blood That flows when ripped wit bullets Just as mine, Bear children Just as I - And are my enemy Just as I am theirs. I look at them as they pass me on the street. Strange strangers. Jaffa Gate my companion tells me Thousands go through in a day Under the lovely old stones Yellow brown in the sunlight Evenly uneven Soothing to the brain.

The Sound You Hear The sound you hear you think is "Allah" Isn't "Allah" Listen - listen to the yelling Listen closely to the yelling Don't you hear it From the corner "Lira "Tikne be lira "Hakol be lira "Lira lira Nothing strange And nothing mystic Just a lira, plain and simple Silver, paper, makes no difference Just a lira, Hakol be lira In the shadows of the wall called golden In the shadow of the mosque called Omar Yelling, selling Hakol be lira Lira, Lira. Don't you see their eyes are hostile Don't you see their look oblique Don't you know the furrowed frowning Fondles failures fury Not to be forgotten ever never Smiling as they pass us by Scraping lip upon the teeth Thinking. Cold and calculating crinkles Crease themselves into a smile. I know they think We've got a thousand to your one A thousand to your one. You haven't won We've got a thousand to your one Whose blood can spurt Upon the walls called golden In the setting of the sun.