The hounds search for him on every street, And the hawks keep watch from the skies. Is he alive, or is he dead? Conscious or unconscious?

By faith he is alive,but by sight he is dead. The sun waits for his shadow to peer into its presence, And the swifts, for the sound of his stride.

From his lair, he has cried out for vengeance, Or so his friends chant in one voice. He swears never to surrender, But the winged ones do not hear him, And the heavens have yet to witness his ghostly venture into the day.

His vassals celebrate his rise, his followers cheer his name, While his adversaries hunt him from every side. The light has forgotten the path to his face, And the nightingales have fallen silent in his absence.

For his enemies have also sworn a solemn oath: That His Majesty’s throne is hollow, and his crown but a shadow. They have written his name in the dust of the desert, A legacy broken, a kingdom subverted. Decreeing that the King shall never see the sun again.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)