The Oldest Conflict Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

The oldest conflict

They shot and wounded the old Syrian in his tobacconist's
near where I live, he was rescued by passers-by
By the corner, two Jews dressed in black, stood motionless
I thought of vultures, waiting for the lion to die.
It is so abstract 2000 years, nothing ever changes; who is
right and who is wrong don't matter anymore, empathy
has gone, only grim, ancient hatred remains.
Different interpretations of the right way to God becomes
meaningless, chaos in a miasma of words, everyone is right
but fail to see the commonality when blinded by bigotry.