Masîḥ

I brought home
from the tribes and Benjamites
a new name: Deliverer of Jews,
from the Kidron of the god-fearers,
savior of their flocks and laws, ransomer
of old men fussing over white beards
and singing noisily to their deaf baal,
the god Yhw who chooses and unchooses,
lord of storms, deserts, and catastrophe.

Babylon is gone now: its temples broken,
its waters burbling with the thin blood
of false prophets and Egyptian girls,
its prisons full of teachers,
hawk-nosed usurers and their boys.
The mad son of Nabu (they say) died
after killing his own sons,
savaging his daughters and priests
Nəḇūḵaḏreʾṣṣar
king of world before me--
lord of Māt Akkadī , Elam,
Lagash, Uruk, Kish, Isin,
like Cyaxares among the Medes
before me in Jerusalem
before me in everything, and yet mad.

No one is Persia:
not the sea people
the Phoínikes renowned among the palms
and poets, not the camel fuckers
to the east, with their platoons of gods
and endless journeying, a witless people
without walls and cities.
No one was Xšāça, the clever people
who spread the fire of God,
the wisdom and good of Thvarshtar
a light to people everywhere.

Babylon has fallen;
Judah will fall too
but not while Persia reigns,
not while Cyrus is lord of hosts
mighty in battle. Let the ʿIḇriyyîmi
the Sahashu of Yhw return:
carry the old men,
and let the young ones
follow the deer to the place of refreshment.
Kings preserve gods,
gods must have temples:
As the mad son of Nabu defiled the house of Yhw,
Cyrus commands a new one
for Judah and his sons.

Give your baal Yhw tribute,
but know I am king.
Observe yours moons and festivals,
your bull sacrifices,
your music and dancing.
But proclaim that Persia is light.
For the tribute you give to me
I will be true to you
and to the Amorites in the hills
and Philistines by the sea
Nothing is Persia.
No one else is Cyrus, deliverer and king.