By the River of Babylon: Hang up my Harp #1

587 BC, The Diary of Eliakim: Taken Captive to Babylon

Inspired by | Psalm 137 | and the song | Hang up my Harp |

The day is bleak and dusty by the banks of the Euphrates, a long long way from the lush hills of Jerusalem. Such cruelty, my ink cannot find strength to write all of the terror. The Babylonian's have force marched us hundreds of miles, not all could keep up and were left to die, alone under the pitiless open sky. As my feet and body burn with ache, I escape to imagine my city echoing the sound of temple songs, bustling markets and playful children: life! As I try whisper to Adonai, my parched tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth and I know that it all lies in ruins, walls torn down, a scattering of people hiding in the shadows. Death!

If only we had listened to Jeremiah then we would not be living in the nightmare of his words. Words that we, that I, pushed away time and time again ... Yesterday, under our captors watchful and taunting gaze, to even sing a note was unthinkable. Even a dirge could not find my lips. Yet they, laughing and amused by my grief, mocked: "Go on" they jeered, "sing us one of those songs of Zion!" I had remembered to grab my my harp, that had brought me comfort through many of my past griefs, as I lifted my eyes to Adonai and strung its chords. Yet now, here, overcome with sorrow and shame: how could I even lift my finger to the string? My heart is broken and there is no life in me. The only note that fits is the wind rustling my harps strings with a melancholy whisper as it hangs in the tree beside.

I sit by the river, staring at the water, and think of home.

Eliakim, 587 BC