TIKKUN ALAM
TIKKUN ALAM
The world is torn, a fragile seam,
Where lines divide and children dream.
Threads of sorrow, pulled apart,
Tangled deep within the heart.
We search for shards of fractured light,
Scattered stars through endless night.
Beneath the walls, so cold, so high,
The silent questions drift and sigh.
Who’ll sew the heavens, mend the ground?
Whose hands will bind where breaks are found?
We listen close, the desert’s cry,
A whisper carried on the sky.
For healing comes through tender pain,
Through scars that bear the weight of rain.
Yet still, with trembling hands we try,
To stitch the wounds, to lift the sky.
A hand extended, brave and sure,
A seed that finds the soil pure,
A child’s laughter, soft and free,
A world reborn in harmony.
One thread of hope, we slowly weave,
A light we’re daring to believe.
We are the weavers, line by line,
Creating peace in sacred time.
