Four Cups

Drink deeply,
Be merry
But remember
Your oppression,
Firstborns cast to the river
By a tyrant,
You were slaves,
Now you’re free,

Erased from the walls
All hieroglyphic record recanted,
Forgotten servitude,
Just enjoying
The fruits of their labor
Between morning and mourning,
Making merriment yet for being free
Of the scourge of the strangers
That dwelt those decades there,
That brought those plagues upon them.

These cups,
The most I’ve drank in months,
Commanded to it,
Though my head is swimming between
The heat of the bodies
And the wine drunk
Ceremoniously and unceremoniously
At the same time,
A tumult of longing for freedom and bondage,
The chains of afflictions missed
In these forty years of wandering.


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