For the Harmony for Solidarity event - some of these poems have been published here previously; some are new.

Truths

What is the difference between better and right?

You’re in no way arrogant in your own sight,

Claim you’re not racist or hateful at all,

Yet you’ve got a monopoly on the Divine Light.

You’re so lucky to have been born so tall

On the shoulders of prophets who heard the Divine Call,

While others are left in the darkness of sin.

How grand you feel besides others, so small.

God favored your people since time did begin.

All other faiths are lies that may suck you in.

Pat yourself on the back, you’re one of a few

Who possess a real soul of Divinity within.

You’re not better, you’re just… better, and you always knew

That your religion is the only one, real and true.

For if that weren’t so, you’d have to stare into the night,

Or accept that your religion is right – for you.

Alive

For each and every action

says Newton’s famous law

there is an equal opposite

simple, cold and raw

Fire fighting fire

An eye for an eye

For each and every person killed

someone else must die

Is it only natural

those who hate you, you hate back

a mindless asteroid, acted upon

hurtling through the black

Respond to hate only with love

This I can derive

I will defy the laws of physics

Because I am alive.

Anthem

Oh say, can you see?

No, you can't. Look twice

or more,

however many times will suffice

You say you can see

but you see what they say

as a threat, and your ego

You must obey

You

Eat without tasting

Take in without hearing

Look without sight

No wonder you're fearing

Faces you have only

seen on a screen

Unaware that the

enemy

Shares the same dream

as you

To be safe and loved,

To see and be seen,

Oh say, look again

Till you see what I mean.

Song of Judgment

Part of a whole,

yet you want to shine

to be seen and to define

your unique shape, and to be known

How you want to stand alone!

Reaching out like a dying flame

begging the world, remember my name!

And so you announce, I'm not like them

and all the rest do you condemn

The creative desire to sculpt, to mold

the self, taken too far, cannot hold

in the midst of rejection and scorn

This is how judgment is born

I'm not like him, I'm not like her

And then the lines begin to blur

as those of whose evil you are so sure

become who you will be, are or were.

The Peacemaker

Mirror, mirror, on the wall

Who's the fairest of them all?

God, the mirror did reply

For the mirror cannot lie

The peacemaker acknowledges each soul

So well aware we are part of one whole

Approaches each conflict with a listening ear

Trusts in God and feels no fear

Yet they call him a wimp, they call him weak

Belittle the words that he does speak

He should show 'em who's boss, stand up and fight

It's dog eat dog and might makes right

But the universe mirrors whatever we throw

Cast forth angry words? Reap what you sow.

In the name of pride, the people bleed

Which kind of person does the world most need?

When Immodesty Really Does Equal Objectification

 

            I don’t know how many of you reading this post have heard of Dungeons & Dragons –D&D for short – but for those of you who haven’t, it’s a role-playing game in which you chose a character (an elf bard, a human druid, a gnome fighter, and so on), give it a name, use a set of dice to see how strong, smart, stealthy, etc. you are, pick some items and actions  your character will use, and then, with the help of the dungeon master telling the story, you’re all set to play!

I myself run a character in two dungeons – or in other words, I play in two sets of stories, and I have to say I’ve had a lot of fun since I started a few years ago. I got involved with D&D through my husband, who has many D&D books lying around at home. The books give you information about different kinds of characters you might run, different items, different spells to use if you’re a magic user in the game, and so forth.

One day I picked up the Eberron Player’s Guide and was struck by the cover. I looked at the two characters – one a male and one a female, both seemingly in the heat of battle. The male is some kind of metallic creature, and he’s brandishing a sword. The female is a human, and she seems to be casting a spell, her expression confident and determined. There they are, a male and a female standing alongside each other in battle, allied and fighting a common opponent on equal footing. Yay for equality! Yay for feminism! Yay for downfall of chauvinism!

Except there’s one problem. There’s one vital organ on her body that’s dangerously unprotected. Can you guess what it is?

It’s her heart.

When it comes to the issue of modesty and the objectification of women, there are two ideas that I’ve heard so far: one is that modest clothing protects women from being objectified. The other is that women shouldn’t have to change their style of dress because of leery-eyed men, and that the former argument assumes that men are naturally lustful creatures who cannot control themselves at the sight of our exposed skin. Both sides view their style of dress as a kind of liberation.

If you look at my clothes most days (except if I’m going to the pool or am wearing shorts), you’d probably think I go with the first argument. And I do. But I also really like the second argument, and still have trouble reconciling the two of these arguments in my head. My best attempt is this: I know that some men will rape a woman no matter what she’s wearing. I know that many men can control their thoughts and themselves. But just in case some man on the street decides to take a trip to fantasyland in his head with the next woman he sees walking by, at least I’ll be giving him less fuel for his fire. My chest was created to nourish my little daughter in the first months of her life. My body was given to me by God. It was not meant for the lust of a stranger.

Now where were we? Ah, yes! Back to the dungeon, where our courageous hero and heroine are slugging it out on the battlefield. Metal-man sweeps his sword before him, knocking down a group of shrieking orcs, while our wizard casts a blinding spell that sets the rest of their foes into a panic. But one lone enemy archer lurks in a dark corner, spying on our heroes. He sees a weak spot and, notching his arrow – ready, aim, fire! – lets it loose, right into the cleavage of our wizard character! NOOO!

Wizard woman, what were you thinking when you got dressed for battle this morning? Oh, right, I nearly forgot – you didn’t dress yourself this morning. The artist who drew you was probably hoping that your breasts would be a good marketing tool for the many male Dungeons and Dragons fans. You weren’t really meant to be taken seriously on the battlefield. Yes, you fought bravely and were no helpless princess captive in a tower.

But in the end, you were just an object. In your case, your style of dress wasn't so liberating. You were shot through the heart, and society’s to blame. You give equality a bad name.

Nerves of Steel

“Think like a man when behind the wheel.
You gotta make snap decisions, have nerves of steel,
Know what’s under the hood, know how to get gas,
Then after you park, be however you feel.”

This he says to me, seeing that I’m a young lass,
Assuming right away that I’ve nerves of glass,
For one simple question, he considers me weak,
And I burn, remembering how twice I didn’t pass.

He filled up my tank, wouldn’t let me speak,
Treated me like I was submissive and weak,
But how nice, he believes I can “think like a man.”
I can change genders like clothes, so things aren’t so bleak.

All I can say is, I do what I can.
And I will grow stronger, or that’s what I plan.
In me, there’s more that God has yet to reveal,
For I’m capable of more than prettily waving a fan.

Stereotypes belong in the past; what’s the deal?
I’ve got my license, and this is how I feel:
No, I won’t think like a man when behind the wheel!
I am a woman, with nerves of steel.

Problems

     Problems. We’ve all got problems. We’ve got bills to pay. Some of us have homework to do, papers to write, finals to study for. Some of us have worse problems, like fights with our spouses, children, parents, or friends. Some of us have that heavy feeling in our chest that won’t go away no matter how much we sigh. Some of us are heartbroken over a breakup or divorce. Some of us are completely crushed by the passing of a loved one.     
     We all dream of quick fixes. When I win the lottery, all my problems will go away. When summer vacation comes, all my problems will go away. When I get drunk, all my problems will go away. When I get high, all my problems will go away.
     But lottery money runs out. Summer vacation ends. Your drunken and high state fades away.
     We long for that final escape, when all our troubles will vanish permanently. We long for the return to Eden.
     We long for the Messiah.

     Is it realistic to hope for a return to Eden? Or is suffering just a natural part of life, impossible to be banished? I believe the former is true, but since we do not know the future, time will tell which one is right.
     But it is more than time that will determine our fates.
     All those quick fixes listed above: the lottery, vacation, alcohol, drugs – what do they have in common?
     They involve no hard work.
     The lottery ticket is purchased 1-2-3 in a store. Vacation just comes on its own with the passage of time and the end of the semester. Drinking alcohol is as easy as drinking water (except for the strong taste), and drugs are easily injected, swallowed or inhaled.
     Is the coming of the Messiah just as easy? Will he just come like summer vacation? Or is there something we must do to help him along?

     Most of us believe that there is some work involved. In Judaism some will tell us you must become more religious; then he will come. They tell us you must follow the mitzvot (commandments), you must daven (pray) more frequently and with more kavanah (enthusiasm).
     Now, I am not a learned scholar of Judaism. I am still in the process of learning all there is to know about my religion, and I am eager to learn, so if I’m wrong about anything, please correct me.
     So, let me get this straight. When every last Jew on Earth has become religious, what happens next? (FYI – Jews are not encouraged to proselytize, so we do not believe all humans must convert to Judaism for the Messiah to come.) We are all so religious that we inspire everyone else to become better people, and that’s how Eden gets brought back?
     Well, I guess that’s possible.
     But there’s a problem here.
     Think about the Seder, if you’re Jewish and have one, and recall the ritual of opening the door for Elijah.
     When it is time for the Messianic Era to be ushered it, Elijah is supposed to appear at our door. Every year, we pray that we will see him.
     Recall what you said after you open the door.
     You said, “Pour out thy wrath upon the heathen who will not acknowledge thee, and upon the kingdoms who invoke not thy name, for they have devoured Jacob, and laid waste to his dwelling. Pour out thy indignation upon them, and let thy fierce anger overtake them. Pursue them in wrath and destroy them from under the heavens of the Eternal” (Maxwell House Passover Haggadah, 1996).

     One day, when we are religious enough, we will win that Ultimate Lottery ticket. But although being religious is hard enough, there’s something else we seek to escape. It’s too difficult to extend our hands in friendship with the rest of mankind. It’s too difficult to keep to our religion and mix with them at the same time. It’s too hard to trust them given our history of being persecuted, too hard to avoid the temptations of eating pork when they eat pork, or watching tv on Saturday when they watch tv on Saturday. It’s too much – we’re better off hiding, folding into ourselves like a wad of paper, curling up into a fetal position and hoping, praying, that the world would just all go away, that God would just come down, one day, and pour out His wrath on every last “heathen,” one by one. That would be so, so easy. Then all our problems would go away.  
     But here’s an even bigger problem:
     We will never see Elijah with hatred in our eyes.
     Isn’t it obvious? If we have the opportunity to ask God anything at that moment, and God is capable of any and all miracles, why are we asking for the death of the “heathens?” Instead, we should be asking God to soften their hearts and make them realize that persecuting us is wrong.
     Prayer is good, but on top of prayer, we must also take action. We must realize that our only shot at eliminating their hatred for us is by befriending them, while at the same time having the strength to follow our own beliefs. It may not work 100% of the time, but if we can show some people that we are just as human as they are, we will be closer than we are in our current state to eliminating our problems.
     And we will be closer, God-willing, to opening the door for Elijah and witnessing a miracle.

The Dark

Once, my world was luminescent.
From every life emanated a glow.
I gave my widest smile to anyone
For we were all equal and no one was low.

Once, my world was shining splendour.
Jew and non-Jew could reach the Divine.
Dogs and birds, leaves and grasses,
Even the worm, were bathed in shine.

Then she told me my eyes were closed
And she proceeded to help me see
We are the only possessors of souls
And this great truth would set me free.

And as I watched, the light receded.
"They're not Jews, they'd never fully understand."
The light retracted as this phrase was repeated.
From the faces of my friends, the light was banned.

I looked on in sadness as the darkness
Swallowed some I dearly love
And only Main Street and Kissena Farms
Was blessed with light from Heaven above.

I felt nauseated; my mind was reeling,
For behind my friends' eyes, there was no soul!
And I smiled at them, but my eyes were half-lidded,
For they could never reach the same spiritual goal.

It was pitch-black, a night with no moon
As I met up with friends who are not my kind.
She opened my eyes, and in the process
She struck me utterly, desolately blind.

Touch Not This Tree

Touch not this tree
Don’t cut me down
Lest you soon see
God’s saddened frown

I breathe with mirth
I give you air
The lungs of Earth

Show me you care

You’ve got a choice
It’s in your hands
But I’ve no voice
To change your plans

If not for me
You’d choke, you’d drown

Touch not this tree

Don’t cut me down

Within

One can be guided from within or without.
The former is what life is really about.
Some shut their eyes and call themselves blind,
Too fearful to challenge the darkness of doubt.

"What if I can't trust the strength of my mind?"
"If I open my eyes, what might I find?"
On a swaying rope bridge, you cling to the railing,
Clutching the beliefs that others opined.

"I am just a human, in danger of failing.
"Were there no ropes to guide me, I'd go toppling, flailing,"
Yet if you were to trust the force from within,
Wings would burst from your body, your conscience prevailing.

How did religion actually begin?
It began boldly and bravely, without terror of sin.
Love of all living beings was its true origin,
And we flew with exhileration, eyes wide open.