Older than most
Bulls eye of the firmament

City of faiths,
lovers and throat-cutters.

From deep sewers
where tailbearing opportunists dwell
to the stars that keep an eye
on the ancient wall.

Visions of eternal peace
Blood overflowing cobblestones

Preachers and salesmen
crying for attention

Back in seventy-seven,
with Palestinian kids
in an Old Town Hostel
watching hands fly
over hand-drums,
skins heated by an oil lamp
and boys dancing to that middle-east beat,
yours truly sporting his mouth harp
on that occasion.

Visiting chapels, Via Dolorosa
and one bakery
where a cockroach
of epic proportions
fiercely took over it's stone floor.


Playing hide and seek
with Israeli cops outside,
those kids and me,
wishing to consume
yet another joint.

Adventure to me,
grave danger to them.

Passing through
the orthodox quarters
Bearded men in Fedoras
over long black locks.
Look right ahead, hippie boy
and keep walking!

Semi-peaceful Jerusalem did seem then,
so many bombs and deaths ago.

Ah, beloved city,
will you ever be left in peace
and cater to our dreams?