Hated heathens, planned war
Awaited the cycle of destruction
Wore sandals, a white robe
Smeared himself in oil
Practised the covenant
Hid from Romans
Lived in communes in the wilderness
Walked the narrow streets
Heard people boast of killings
But his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth
One foot in the grave
One hand around a wine jug
Then he discovered the Lords path
Began writing thanksgiving poetry
Learning nothing was done
The Lord had not foreseen
He was a trueborn priest
With insight into God’s workings
Truths like fingernails and hair
Grew long after his death
Sunlight held a secret
Looking into the sunlight he saw a movie
A boat sailing
With all the works of the Lord
While alive he waited and waited
For the vengeance of God
But no vengeance came
Only Romans and Jesus Christ
The Dead Sea Scripture Poet
Because he kept the covenant of God
Is said to be alive today
Israel, Kibbutz Ziqim near Gaza 1977
From “Beautiful Words” collection
