If only we’ve never parted.
-Do you know me?
Cried little boy lost to me:
-We haven’t parted but we’ll never meet again either…
He said, embracing two little waves
And took off in the air.
Take my sleepiness and hide me
In a story of a tender evening,
Hide me under one of the palm trees
And teach me poetry, that I’ll learn
To wander throughout the Homer’s land,
So I add to the legend the landscape of Acre:
The oldest of beautiful cities,
The most beautiful of the old,
A stone box with life and death in it
Moving like bees imprisoned in hive,
They abandon flowers and then ask the sea:
Where is the exit from hardship?
The siege has tightened.
So teach me poetry that a girl might sing to her distant lover:
“Take me, even by force,
Shelter me in your hands for the night”.
And so they’ve gone in the shadow,
Like a pair of gazelles…
Teach me poetry that waits behind the
Door of the church of pigeons
With a woolen shirt and a story,
With despair for my hope:
“The warrior didn’t come,
Or won’t come,
And you’re not the one,
Who I was waiting for
All that time”.