The hipsters live here now.
There is a trade to be had
in klezmer and kosher ice cream.
But the wet streets scream in silence
and we’re not sure what to feel.
There’s life of sorts – apologetic, rationalised.
But the stones weep as the electric hush
of tourist trains pays its own homage.
What have we done? There are no words.
Our thoughts and prayers go out.
But it is not finished.
This passion is not redeemed.
It echoes still in Gaza
and in Tel Aviv.
Oh, once it seemed
we’d found a way.
the wet streets scream in silence.