Jerusalem is your beautiful dream
You´re a glimpse of hope green ray in my atman, in my land of permanent happiness.
You´re the realm of Shambhala that awakens the immortality of my soul.
You´re my lost city of Tibet, when I hear your slight sighs in Zion.
You´re my earthly paradise, when I hear your tremulous groans on the wall of Agrippa.
Jerusalem is your beautiful dream where your nocturnal and broken cries are born.
And on top of that high summit, that hard padlock of gold and silver set in diamonds of innocent blood, perhaps, oppresses the eternal dormant consciences.
Aramaic consciences of Essene hearts. Silver arrows, of Essene spirits, intertwine threads of fine cotton.
Hearts of trembling souls. Poets of a chosen people within the Hebrew town. Poets of the sun, poets of Galilee, poets of the Milky Way, poets of the immortality of the soul.
Red blood of Aaron within the Great White Brotherhood…