The Blue Book


There is a clearing
where Jerusalem is constructed,
its source code scribbled on a wall,
for everyone to see
before being
crossed out and accused
by an unseeing soldier
for the right case and
correct phrase.

Then, the years of wailing,
before we could come home,
and plead for forgiveness,
willing what wafts between
remembrance and all we lost:

an old story about a rabbi
who would not repent,
and a rhythm outside time.

Travel with me back down
to dance, to be daft,
to tell you what you
already know.

The horns were hung above
our door some time ago, Numzaan,
we honour our shadows here
and share what we know,
singing one simple truth:

the greatest sin is also what redeems
the whole thing,
even Elisha Ben Abuyah.


Romani ite domi

We’re on African