The wind blows in waves of dry leaves,
Yellow dust,
And delicate rumors.
Gusts of courtships,
Whispers of relationships,
Tales of failure and success,
Whisked from mouth to ear by blooming curiosity,
Arrant jealousy,
And sprinkles of fear and worry.
The ventures of preying birds,
Soaring over the prairie,
Diving into circling flocks,
Disturbing their flight,
Staining their feathers,
Upsetting the good order of nature,
Its boundaries and manners,
Drawing chaos and fear.
Riders of confidence thermals,
And kindness gusts.
Robbers of trust and warmth,
Chasers of fantasies and imagination,
Charging onward in a drive to conquest,
Unwilling bodies, resisting souls,
Who seeks nothing but peaceful existence,
But are forced to flee,
To hide,
From the menace.
Quests are made to stop these ravens.
Hints heavy as tree trunks,
Are dropped in their path.
Pleas clear as a blue sky day,
Fade into thin air,
In grand ignorance,
As the cuckoos rush to vanquish,
Their object of desire.
The flock soars up,
Flies in closer formation,
More cautious,
Warily mindful,
Of the skies above.
Long lines of people,
By car,
And on foot,
Mothers clutching their children to their chests,
Or walking them by the hand.
The older boys had stayed behind,
To fight forces greater than,
A Molotov cocktail, a stone,
Or a gun.
A proud nation stands defiant,
To defeat invading forces.
No time to bury its dead,
Or mourn them.
Large cities crumble under the weight,
Of the bombs and the tanks and the hate.
Morning rises, the war rages on,
Under blue skies and yellow gold pride.
Stomach murmurs jab at the concentrated mind,
The work project is set aside,
Giving way to meal choices,
And food preparations.
Reading through a magazine over a warm plate,
Bright sunlight washes over the table,
Outside, a bone-chilling blue-sky day,
The cat sleeps at his spot on the window sill.
Peaceful silence, only a distant car hum,
Thoughts run wondersome over the kitchen sink,
To the frozen yard outside,
And lost in the cloudless heavens above.
Words conveyed,
Sent,
Read,
Replied.
Bearing thoughts,
Wonders,
Worries,
Snapshots of passions.
Expressing hopes,
Fears,
Love,
The gamut of emotions.
Spoken with voice and typed by fingers.
Skating on a surface of emotions that stretches between the horizons of sight and time.
The sun rises and sets.
Seasons turn.
Lives are born and lost.
Expressions continue to flow,
Weaving the fabric of life with depth and meaning,
To form the evolving picture of humanity.
Sun rays, traveling through vacant space,
In a direct course to the edge of nowhere,
Shining heavenly bodies along their way,
Finding new direction on a chance reflection.
Rare, select few, penetrate the stifling Earth clouds,
Land softly into the soul,
That had craved them for a spiritual millennium,
Of a creative terra firma.
Hints of words, buds of ideas,
Emerge from the cracked soil,
Grow into a tale, a poem,
That blooms with relief and excitement.
Freedom reclaimed, the impediment dissipates,
Effervescent lightness floats the spirit,
Onto green pastures of fertile imagination,
To be harvested, while the light shines.
The air stands still in the empty rooms,
Sunlight glistens through the barely opened shades,
The kitchen is organized, borrowed tables and chairs are back at the neighbors,
The house is reclaimed.
Loved ones, family members and friends,
Have packed and gone to their homes,
Yet the mind swirls with memories and thoughts,
Of conversations and emotions that still echo.
Endearing exchanges, sneering words, common family dramas,
Soul munchies to nibble on through the long withdrawal,
With the morning tea, the mid-day walk,
The late-night unwind.
The workweek began and reigns again,
Early morning meetings, late-night emails,
Short meal breaks and quick exchanges of friendly texts,
Small tokens of a familiar routine.
The emotional storm that rocked the insides,
Gave way to calm, cold, winter days,
The tea kettle is boiling, another glance at the sunny yard,
Thanksgiving is over, for at least another year.
We met for a warm lunch on a chilly day,
The autumn leaves had left behind naked trees,
A see-through scenery for the New England winter.
She removed her heavy wool coat,
To reveal a blue blouse, her signature color.
We ordered Kale salad, dressing on the side,
And dove into the recent past,
Which got extended by global events.
Time can be thinner than fine sand.
People and events, memories and hopes,
Tossed into an emotional salad, dressing included.
Hair-raising, leg-shaking, tear-jerking,
Wrangled with verbal forks and chewed slowly,
Savoring the surprising tastes and exotic spices,
The kind that dries the mouth and wets the soul.
Yes, I’ll have more water, please. Thank you.
A flowing conversation,
No music or other interruptions,
To borrow us, invite us, stop us,
From this extended moment we share.
One we succeeded in creating, here, today,
By sheer interest, will, and trust.
The stories are heavy, the questions heavier,
They hang in the air around us,
Like an abstruse art installation at a gallery,
That is never open to the public.
A past that directs a future, but not always,
Plans we want to make, changes to apply,
To secure the journey for a steady sail onward,
For us and for them, without anyone knowing.
It can be done. It will be.
The abstract installation moves slowly,
Caressed by caring thoughts,
Changes shape and colors.
The answers shall reveal themselves,
In bright, beautiful shades of blue.
,עֶרֶב יְחִידָה, לֵיל חֹרֶף
,חַיָּלִים בִּיְרָק מַדִּים
,צְרִיף יָשָׁן, כִּבּוּד קַנְטִינָה
.ווּדִי אֶלֶן עַל הַקִּיר
,עַל סַפָּה יוֹשְׁבִים בְּיַחַד
,חַיָּל, חַיֶּלֶת, צְעִירִים
,הַשִּׂיחָה בֵּינֵיהֶם קוֹלַחַת
.מְגַלִּים וּמְסַפְּרִים
,הַסְּבִיבָה כְּאִם נַמוֹגָה
,בֵּין שְׁנֵיהֶם עוֹלָם נִרְקָם
,סַקְרָנוּת, חָשַׁשׁ, תְמִיהָה, אִם
.אֵי מִזֶּה הוֹלֵךְ לְאָן
,וּבְסוֹף הָעֶרֶב, יַחַד
,טְרֵמְפְּ תּוֹפְסִים מִן הַבָּסִיס
,מְכוֹנִית קְטַנָּה שׁוֹעֶטֶת
.אֶל הַכְּרַךְ שֶׁל תֵּל אָבִיב
,בַּמֶּרְכָּז יוֹרְדִים מוֹדִים הֵם
,צָד בַּצַּעַד בּוֹאַכָה יָם
,בְּשְׂדֵירָה רָאשִׁית פּוֹסְעִים לָהֶם
.לְאִטָּם, אֵין לַחַץ זְמַן
,גֶּשֶׁם רַד וְשׁוּב חָדֵל לוֹ
,הָרְחוֹבוֹת רֵיקִים, כֵּהִים
,הַשִּׂיחָה אֵינָהּ מוּפְרַעָת
.מִטְּרִיָּה הֵם כְּבָר חוֹלְקִים
,כָּךְ וְכָךְ חוֹלְפוֹת שָׁעָתָּיִים
,לַיְלָה וּכְבָר מְאֻחָר
,נְשִׁיקָה רִאשׁוֹנָה, נִמְרַחַת
.נִתְרָאֶה כְּבָר שׁוּב מָחָר
,בָּאוּ מָחָר וּמָחֳרָתַיִם
,וְעוֹד אַלְפֵי יָמִים טוֹבִים
,אָז בְּגֶשֶׁם תֵּל אֲבִיבִי
.יָצָאנוּ לְחָיַיִם שׁוּתְּפִים
The Seventh in November
Army unit, winter evening,
Soldiers in green uniforms,
Old wood hut, canteen hors d’oeuvre,
Woody Allen on a screen.
On a sofa sit together,
A soldier, soldieress, very young,
The conversation between them flowing,
Discovering and telling.
The surroundings as if vanished,
Between them a world is formed,
Curiosity, worry, wonder, whether,
Any of this is going anywhere.
As the evening ends, together,
Ride they catch from army base,
Little car is fast driving,
To the metropoline of Tel Aviv.
At the Central Station they depart, thank the driver,
Step in step toward the sea,
On the main avenue they’re walking,
Slowly, there is no rush.
Rain is falling and again stops,
The streets are empty, dark,
The conversation is not disturbed,
An umbrella they now share.
So and so two hours passed there,
Night and getting very late,
First kiss, is stretching, slowly,
We shall meet again tomorrow.
Next day came and the day after,
And many thousands good days,
Then in a Tel Avivian rain,
We set to a together life.
A gray suburban Sunday morning framed by the kitchen window,
Autumn leaves struggle to hang from branches for one more day,
A still-green grass is covered by their yellowing siblings who took an early fall,
They drift around the yard in a windy bid at finding a new life.
Morning coffee steams on the table, Babka to its side,
A week-old magazine open to a trailblazing young doctor’s profile,
The future seems positively inspiring on the glossy pages,
Seep of coffee, harvest sweet bites from the plate, no crumb left behind.
Cat Nami sniffs the chilly air through the slightly open window,
The day ahead is hinting; chores, creative tasks, relaxation, the range,
Writing a story chapter, a poem, brave weather for a walk,
The coffee cup and plate are empty, the kitchen sink is next.
Home is where love is,