Like the Chagall figure
I floated above
The Wailing Wall
Touching the ancient
stones
I felt the deep pain -
Centuries of
anguish
of my people.
I saw the river of tears
That sought the
assuage
The grief of 3000 years.
Even now ethereal
Dawn mists softly
Creep along the city
skyline
Creating an eerie
feeling
Of fear in me.
In among the
traffic
Bus 20 moved slowly
Up the hill
Hesitated a moment
Then all hell broke
loose
A blinding piercing
explosion
Tore through the bus
Fire, smoke, a huge
pall
A black umbrella
Edged with orange
flames
Engulfed everything.
Startled pigeons flew
in all directions
Tree branches
blown
asunder.
Cries for help
Screams of pain
Sirens wailing - fire
brigades
Ambulances and police
cars
all converge.
A weeping man carrying
a bleeding woman
in his arms.
Stretchers loaded
on every side.
A scorched briefcase -
papers scattered
Bloodied torn shoes and
clothing
Abandoned bags
Parcels - a child's
headless doll.
A ripped tallit hangs
drunkenly
from a twisted pipe.
Splintered glass
everywhere
Opposite bus 20 - bus 9
Gaping burning and blown
apart
Skeletal seats dripping
blood
I wept with anger -
burned with hatred
Hatred for demons
that had engineered this
act.
My whole being demanded
revenge
"Vengeance is mine
sayeth the lord"
Like in a dream
The pigeons
returned
Nearby a white
dove
Fluttered to earth
Carrying no olive branch
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