The Ones

28 Feb

WINGED HAREDIM

His dancing heart fills his garment,

As his fiery eyes transform

His jacket into a bekishe,

The cotton into silk, and satin

And on Shabbat, even water into wine

—–

He glides through Geulah St.

One hand holding Mordechai, his baby,

The other dangles near his tzit-tzit

Grasping Torah, remembering G.d

They cross the street swaying to

The sound of the nigun in the wind

—-

They stroll eyes fixed on the heavens,

An inward gaze of peace,

A stranger to envy, malice, or vanity.

His ego held firm by his shtreimel

Only his peyot wobble to his walk.

One G..d, one woman, one book

Love, duty and awe.

—-

Days spent in recitation, nights

In veneration. His laws he lives.

No Hollywood movies, no french wine,

No facebook, no pettiness here

Knowing the all desirable,

His soul cleaves, his heart swells,

Yet his head is level.

—-

His eyes still like the waters lake

Blessed with grace and divine beauty

Radiating the docility of wisdom

This dove, is perhaps the last

Vestige of divinity on earth or

Perhaps the only remaining angel?

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