This poem is supposed to draw a stark contrast between William Blake’s
visionary ideal of Jerusalem as a symbol of peace and spiritual 
renewal, and the harsh realities of today’s Jerusalem, Israeli 
policies, and the ongoing suffering of Palestinians in Gaza. It 
confronts the devastation wrought by political decisions and military 
actions, refusing to cloak these tragedies with ancient myths or 
empty rhetoric. By naming the brutal consequences of leadership 
choices and highlighting the human cost on both sides, the poem wants to 
challenge readers to reconsider what Jerusalem truly means in our time.

And did the walls grow ever high
As wells were bombed and pipes ran dry?
And did the drones in perfect arcs
Ignite the night with deadly sparks?

And did the leader smile and stand
As ruins filled the desert plain?
And did he speak of peace and law
While turning mercy into pain?

Bring me no scroll, no iron creed,
No ancient flag to mask today.
Bring me the hunger, bring the dust,
Bring mothers digging through the clay!

I will not build a “holy place”
On shattered limbs and buried screams.
Jerusalem is not a throne—
It dies in leaders' brutal dreams.