Easter in Our Palms
 Penned on Palm Sunday, 10 April 2022
 by Jeannette Tien-Wei Law
  
  
 When children drink from puddles carved by bombs
 from battle tanks emblazon-sprayed with Zs,
 our prayers cry out this Sunday of the Palms.
  
 How dare we sip our tea or sing the Psalms
 while Ukraine bunkers boom with ghostlike shrieks
 and old men drink from puddles, maimed by bombs
  
 as beardless soldiers gag the rebel songs
 of white-winged neighbors cycling blackened streets?
 Our requiem prayer this Sunday of the Swans
  
 begs mercy for a motherland of moms,
 pleads Alphas locking horns:  at once, release!
 No toddlers must drink puddles, eat their bombs
  
 as Councils spin spent wheels with talks of arms
 while dying towns crave Ministries of Peace.
 Yet silence reigns this Sunday of the Palms—
  
 Oh God, our beggar world implores Your alms
 to suture hearts with Holy balm so deep
 that youth will frisk in puddles, freed from bombs
 Our prayers arise this Sunday in our palms