Dear Lord of the Oppressed

Dear Lord of the Oppressed:
Lend me Your All-Hearing Ears,
And hear my silenced cries
Lift from me these heavy burdens
Of constant, heaving sighs
Which I have been hauling
Since the dawn of my demise

Instill back into me the breath of existence
The privilege of which I have been denied
For a time untold
Raise me high so that I may pray to reach You
And permit me to wail to You the anguish
Of a people I uphold
Allow me to beseech You to have mercy on us
So that we may be redeemed
Of this bottomless well of miseries
Lend me just a moment of Your infinite Time today
As I weep to You the terrifying circumstances
Thrown upon a people who have been cunningly led astray

The realities of a destroyed future and a forbidden today
Have forced us to abandon our land and kiss our soil away
We’ve become foreigners in a country that claims us its own
In a distant soil where we’re drowning in oceans of dismay

We are told it’s a sin to shed tears of pity, it’s a sin to complain
But we’ve suffered beyond what the mind can think
And tolerated more than what our experiences can explain
There are unmentioned thoughts that must be suppressed
For they are far worse than small complaints can express
But we’ve lost our senses, our path to success
And we have turned into a sad, pitiful breed
We’ve seen chopped limbs and beheaded loved ones
And our wells flood with the tears we bleed

Dear Lord of the oppressed:
Lead us into gardens where serenity will reign
Where our infinite sorrows might start to wane
Guide us back to the land that gave birth to us,
Now blown away by vicious storms of oppression,
Storms that were sent by the demons of tyranny
That left my people in chains of depression
Grant us permission
To embrace our soil’s fragrance once more
And, once more, taste the gentle gush of its breeze
So that we may be intoxicated in its motherly scent
And at last be cured of this gruesome disease
Pour upon us a much-needed rain of mercy and peace
And wipe away from my wretched people
These sweats of subjugation caused by centuries of unease

Dear Lord of the Oppressed:
Let stand strong our shattering mountains
That were once our major source of strength
Let flow the calm, crystal rivers of our mighty land
So that they may wash away our tears of pain
Tears that have been buried in specks of sands
Let, also, bloom the flowers of our fertile land
So that we may plant a future of stability,
One that has been long over-due,
And ignite for ourselves flames of security

Our prayers go unanswered, our screams go unheard,
But as our strong faith compels us to be patient and pray,
We ask You to kindly confer upon us, once again,
Our crowns of honor upon which we once used to sway

~ Me
Sunday, May 31, 2009

Also in Sahar.