Tablets from Haifa
arrived first on postcards
making sure war would not censor
a sealed envelope and never reach us

We were addressed as heavenly farmers
calling us to scatter pure seeds of love
teachings to uplift humanity

But no band played
as that momentous summons
crossed the ocean
only the blasting of weapons
were loud that day
headlines full of death

One hundred years later
I sit in his room at Green Acre
intoxicated by atoms of love
blessed to land in this moment of time
where stillness and prayer
invite me into a garden of hope

No fanfare today either
just news of comings and goings
no mention of this promised day
as it slips under the radar
its magnitude invisible to the masses
its call a whisper only believers can hear
yet it grows ever stronger
as others awaken
to a world of chaos sinking further
from the full measure
of what we humans can become

Out of darksome despair
we are asked to raise banners of light—
the prescription inked a century ago
is ready to be carried out
its celestial fragrance ever potent
its sweetness overflowing

Your eyes, full of
pain and joy
seem to cry and laugh
all at once
I see the smile upon your lips
and might not guess
you were imprisoned
an exile who traveled on foot
through bitter cold terrain
barely enough to eat
I might never guess the story
of the wide embrace of love
in the gardens surrounded by children
temples and churches bulging
with those curious to hear what truth
you brought from the east
your face lined with a suffering
softens with a brush of tenderness

As you gaze upward
your hand reaches out
beckoning me to join you
on the stony path of freedom