Tuesday, April 19, 2011

The Drought

Have we forgotten how it is to weep,
And taught the very clouds to curb their rain?
Have we anaesthetised all joy and pain
And trapped creation in this arid sleep,
Where dreams are mean and dry-eyed spectres creep
With begging-bowls? If we could weep again,
Could care sufficiently to break the chain
That binds our hearts and offer what we keep
Imprisoned there, would earth recuperate
The mercy in our tears? Would fields that slept
Awake; would fruit and flowers proliferate
And streams make music from the sobs we kept
Held tight in burning throats? Tears consecrate:
Christ looked upon Jerusalem and wept.