GOD

 

A God has never seen.

 

A God saw just a little.

 

A God shipwrecked.

 

A God looked up,

 

leaned just to see.

 

A God knelt.

 

A God crumpled against the wall,

 

bashed against the finger of God,

 

the finger of God that ripped his eye off of Him.

 

I will see an eye ripped off by a Muslim in Rumania.

 

The sky will rain an eye ripped off by God’s theophany demanding the silence of the crimes,

 

the clearing of evil so that God implants His justice

 

here, where the eye of God didn’t see

 

nor came to the mind of men,

 

here where the eyes of God hate the violent

 

but rather not seeing him.

 

Turn around ride the neck over the neck of the slave

 

make him bleed splash him let his eyes blind.

 

I carried you like a newborn while you could not see

 

And this you pay me my people how have I wronged you?

 

Yahve saw the pain rising,

 

Yahve set fire to the Reichtag the Circus Maximus Solomon’s Gate the concrete of Chernobyl the desert of Dasht-e Margo the ebony of the Amazon the neurons of the Copernicus the circus the prosperous hand of Jara the trovadour:

 

Will you decorate your house with the palpebral halo of the orbis mundi?

 

Will you wipe the tears off the dried-out eyeball?

 

Will there come another God who will look at your works

 

and praise His throne over yours, devastated?