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| Photo: Hosny Salah, Gaza (from Pixabay) |
Hosanna?
A poem for Palm Sunday
I thought Hosanna
Was a cry of praise,
Of worship
But it is a call to save
Crowds waving palms
Recognising Jesus their King
The King who would save them.
In that same land
Though arms, and legs, are taken
The cry still comes
Not Hosanna to the Son of David,
But save us
Save us now
Where is the King of Kings?
Occupiers stop clothing, kill crops
No cloaks to spare
To spread upon the ground
— they’re needed now for tents –
Any plant too precious to strew
For anything can be eaten
When you’re hungry enough
Only rubble to mark his path
Only dust
Ash
Bodies
But still the people cry
Praises to their God
Prayers for peace, justice, mercy
Hosanna!
Save us now!
Where is the King of Kings?
Crowds picked off
One by one by one
Family by family
The plan to erase their existence
Occupiers’ ignorance
Don’t they know?
If the people cannot cry out
The stones will shout
Broken buildings bellow
War-torn windows wail
Ravaged roads roar
Save us!
Save us now!
Where is the King of Kings?
He rides into the pain
Never flinching
Climbs through the wreckage
To find the voices calling
Thick with dust
Through the ash
Under rubble
Where houses fell
On people
Who cried
Screamed
Whispered
Save us
Where is the King of Kings?
Not on a donkey
But in the hands of brave men
Who pull away bricks
And stroke the cheeks
Of terrified children
He is beneath the rubble
Beside babies with blank eyes
Resigned to this existence
He is with the women baking
Feeding crowds from nearly nothing
In a pit, hastily dug,
Embracing men who sought only to rescue
And were erased for that crime
Hosanna?
Where is the King of Kings?
A donkey leads the procession
Of broken refugees
He draws near
Still weeps over Jerusalem
Weeps over Jabalia
Over Rafah and Ramallah
And Khan Younis
And the West Bank
Over every broken soul
Hosanna
If only you had known
The things that make for peace!
©️Laura Moore, Palm Sunday 2025
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