How can I sing when the house is ash,
And the gates of justice lie splintered?
My prayers rise like smoke through broken rafters,
But no fire answers from the clouded sky.
The walls that once held clarity
Stand cracked with silence.
My voice echoes in a city of memory,
Calling for a God I once could name.
I have known exile not of land,
But of recognition—
The quiet ache of unseen striving,
The rubble of words misunderstood.
Where is the place where I was known?
Where are the teachers who did not turn?
O Shepherd of scattered souls,
Gather what is left of my longing.
If You still dwell among ruins,
Then let me sit with You there.
Not to rebuild yet,
But to mourn with You
Until mourning becomes mercy,
And silence becomes seed.
How can I sing when the house is ash,
And the gates of justice lie splintered?
My prayers rise like smoke through broken rafters,
But no fire answers from the clouded sky.
The walls that once held clarity
Stand cracked with silence.
My voice echoes in a city of memory,
Calling for a God I once could name.
I have known exile not of land,
But of recognition—
The quiet ache of unseen striving,
The rubble of words misunderstood.
Where is the place where I was known?
Where are the teachers who did not turn?
O Shepherd of scattered souls,
Gather what is left of my longing.
If You still dwell among ruins,
Then let me sit with You there.
Not to rebuild yet,
But to mourn with You
Until mourning becomes mercy,
And silence becomes seed.