Prayers4Peace: For the Peacemakers
By: Fayelle Ewuakye
I’m tired of making peace.
I don’t have any more tears
except I have lots more tears
More tears these years than all my years
Still my tears, are nothing compared to their fears
And the images, seared, not just to see but to hear
Across the miles, oppressed all this while,
Echoes etched, forever in my ears
In the comfort of where we stand in this heartland
Leaders not worthy of the gold and diamonds on their hands
But of silver shackled bracelets, leading to courts even beyond this wasteland,
The cruelest bait and switch, furthest thing from the promise of a promised land
Was there some fine print we missed? ‘Cause I just don’t understand
See, here the monsters roam, beastly vultures feast
eyes scouring for fresh meat,
And those violent sickle shaped beaks
Watch them feed on greed
Live on glowing screens,
and as the innocent bleed, I think,
How surprising, this capitol hill I’m willing to die on
A capitol hill I crumple and cry on
A hill where no peace flies from
All those bills from capitol hill
And still,
blood spilled,
A morning full of mourning, into a pit of deep despair I’m falling
But hear this
A wise one once told me,
Those with privilege, their despair is a luxury
And my luxury is demanding the proper time be this minute
And my luxury is demanding now be the time for the harvest
And my luxury is thinking I could walk away from this
And my luxury is thinking I would walk away from all this
There are bombs thundering in the east
Can’t even count the seconds between the lights, there are too many and they just won’t cease
Music of nightmares, funereal melodies for the deceased
And echoing that fellow who longed,
I yell to God “this hate is too strong”
“it mocks our songs” what, oh Lord, are we doing wrong?
And how many times will we ask, “how long?”
God, being love, gazes tenderly while I shout
He assures me all of my questions, all of my cries are allowed
And then I see his eyes, his cheeks wet with tears, and His heartbreak, it surrounds
Bending down to me, he whispers, he isn’t loud
He says,
Brave Shireen in her press vest, her last heartbeat I felt
I sat next to Hind in the back seat as she begged on the phone for help
Wept at Hersh’s body, lifeless, in that tunnel
The Bibas three, the uncertainty – closer than skin was I,
when Yarden’s heart started to crumble
Deep under all the rubble,
I am right there in the darkness and I am right there in the trouble
I weep at the bombs signed, sealed, delivered with glee
Starvation and gunfire, neither gift comes from me
I call my people to get to work, to be about the business of liberty
My commands are many, but clear, speaking of divine hospitality.
The silence sat again thick,
then his rumble again pierced the void
This time the words had reverberance, they rattled my bones,
this was no still small voice
He said
There is no place for your hate
For the leaders, for the villains you name
I ask not for excuses
The revenge you wish for, it has no use and
I am calling for you to make peace
I call for you to love who you call enemies
Because I love the lowest and the highest of all of these
Because while I sit in the sorrow, my love for every soul does not cease
I call, again and again, for you to make peace
Listen, he said, Yes, I see you limping in this race
But do not quit the race
And the horrors to be faced, you’ll need to brace,
But… watch… your… pace
Do not forget, I’m with you in the whole space
Hear my voice, keep going in this race
So.
The One who has all the answers, I sit, in his presence aware
That those answers we’ve cried for? He doesn’t always share
Those answers I beg for in every breath of every prayer
Those answers I demand in the middle of, yes, my despair…
But a wise one once told me,
Those with privilege, their despair is a luxury
Our luxury is demanding the proper time be this minute
Our luxury is demanding now be the time for the harvest
So let’s not get jaded as we yearn for that proper time
We love as we search for the harvest on the horizon line
love as we lose sleep, forget to eat, yell to wake the complacent and complicit sheep
And work our weary bones, crying out with the earth as it weeps
Because
it’s
not…
blessed are the peace hope-rs, peace jokers, or the peace mopers,
Not blessed are the peace grinders, the peace whiners, the peace idolizers
And definitely not, the peace observers, peace reservers, and all those lip servers
He said,
blessed are the makers of peace
And while our souls are beaten, under the callous, behind the crease
And our hearts bruised, the shattering of all our peace
He still and again, commands us to run
Til he tells us the race is all done
Til he tells us the battles have all been won
And to not lose hope as your worn out gaze, at the end of all these days,
watches another unfulfilled setting sun
We remember the promise that one day, the race will be done
And all the battles will be won
Rest will come
A new sunrise will shine on peace and love’s holy celebration
About the author:
Fayelle earned her B.A. in Humanities at Jacksonville State University, in Jacksonville, Alabama with a concentration in Anthropology and Geography. She has over a decade of social media, graphic design, website maintenance experience for several organizations in northwest Georgia and finds the gifts and benefits of digital media to be great blessings toward any organization wishing to reach out to the masses. Fayelle wants to be a part of some meaningful work, both locally and globally, and believes peace, justice, and activism are things the public at large needs to know more about.