,לְעֵת לָיִל
,כְּלֵי עֲבוֹדָתִי שׁוֹבְתִים
.וְתָם עָמַל הַיּוֹם
,אֲרוּחַת הָעֶרֶב נִסְעָדַה
,וְהַבַּיִת דּוֹמֵם
.שָׁקֶט
,אֲנִי שׁוֹכֵב בְּמִטָּתִי
,וְלְאוֹר מְנוֹרַת הַלַּיְלָה
,קוֹרֵא
,דַּפִּים כְּתוּבִים בְּמַּקֵּל שֶׁל כּוּרְכּוּם
,סִפּוּרִים בְּהִירִים שֶׁל אַהֲבָה וְרֹךְ
,מִמָּקוֹם רָחוֹק
,וּזְמַן אַחֵר
,שֶׁהוּא כָּאן
.תָּמִיד
At nightfall,
My work tools have settled,
The day’s labor has ended.
Dinner was eaten,
And the house is still,
quiet.
I lay in my bed,
And to the bedside light,
Read,
Pages written with a stick of turmeric,
Bright stories of love and tenderness,
From a faraway place,
And another time,
That is here,
Always.
The tiny car twirled once,
Then crumpled against the concrete barrier,
Inside it, light died down,
Alone,
Invisible raindrops,
Given instant recognition by passing headlights,
Washed the smoking wreckage,
Off its final sin.
Futures, plans,
And a world full of hopes,
Vanished in an instant,
For all of tomorrows.
Slumped in his seat,
Sat the life student,
An elusive lover,
A free bird.
The saturated earth accepted into her,
The body of a son,
His talents, imagination, and promises,
And the life that was.
The world spun on,
Weaving cobwebs of pain and loss,
And a love cut short,
Yearning a lifetime for completion.
,הַלַּיְלָה, בְּאַרְבַּע וַרֶבַע לִפְנוֹת בֹּקֶר
.הָלַכְתִּי לְטַיֵּל עִם אַבָּא שֶׁלִּי
,הֶחְנֵיתִי אֶת הָאוֹטוֹ
,בְּצַּד הַכְּבִישׁ, לְיַד הַפַּארְק
.וְנָעַלְתִּי אוֹתוֹ
,אַבָּא כְּבָר חִכָּה שָׁם
.לְיַד הַנַּחַל
,הִתְחַלְנוּ לָלֶכֶת
.וּלְשׂוֹחֵחַ
,דִּבַּרְנוּ עַל דְּבָרִים
.שֶׁעוֹמְדִים לִקְרוֹת
,אֲנִי לֹא זוֹכֵר עַל מָה בְּדִיּוּק
,אֶלָּא רַק שֶׁהֵם הָיוּ דְּבָרִים מוּזָרִים
.וְהָלַכְנוּ
,אַבָּא לָבַשׁ אֶת הַחֲלִיפָה הַחוּמָה הַמַּצְחִיקָה שֶׁלּוֹ
,וְטִיַּלְנוּ
.אֲנִי לֹא זוֹכֵר לְאָן
,אַבָּא כְּבָר אֵינוֹ פֹּה
,אֵין מַמָּשׁ פַּארְק כָּזֶה
,וְכָל הַדְּבָרִים הַלָּלוּ
,לֹא יִקְרוּ עוֹד
.אַף פַּעַם
Ramble
Last night, at four-fifteen in the morning,
I went for a walk with my dad.
I parked the car,
By the side of the road, near the park,
And locked it.
Dad already waited there,
By the brook.
We started walking,
And conversing.
We talked about things,
That are about to happen.
I do not remember exactly what about,
Only that they were odd stuff,
And we walked.
Dad wore his funny brown suit,
And we rambled,
I don’t remember where to.
Dad is no longer here.
There isn’t really such a park,
And all these things,
Will not happen,
Ever.
Aelbert Jansz. van der Schoor, Vanitas Still Life (Skulls on a Table), 1660
A silent scream,
From distant time,
Suspended in a darkened room.
An open mouth,
No eyes to see,
Set teeth exposed,
With hollow skulls.
A group of friends,
Or foes till death?
No one to tell,
Of end demise.
Day come, day go,
The scene a freeze,
Old dust specks rest,
In canvas weaves.
Stone horse stands still at hill side,
Quiet,
Valley meadow strings in green and brown,
Wind floats flocks of birds at sky-high,
Swirls autumn leaves to final rest below.
Life rises and fades at stone horse giant footsteps,
Often taking refuge in its serene shade,
Stone horse makes a step in a millennium,
On his way to meet awaiting mare.
(AP Photo/Phelan M. Ebenhack)
When I am shot,
Please do not feel sorry for me,
Do not pray for me,
Or keep me in your thoughts.
When I am shot,
It will likely be an act of random violence,
A chance encounter with one bullet,
Perhaps a few more.
When I am shot,
I may die instantly,
Or bleed to death,
Lying on the ground.
Alternatively, I could just be maimed,
Like so many gunshot victims,
Living a handicapped life,
Once the news cycle turns.
I will be shot,
Someone will be, for sure,
Later today, tomorrow, you can never choose,
It just happens a lot.
Oh, America, my beloved,
The land of the free,
Apple pie and baseball,
Sky-high dreams,
And the AR-15
Here, oh great nation,
Life of liberty and happiness,
Is contingent on,
The freedom to possess,
Weapons of war.
So, friends and compatriots,
When I or you are shot,
Do not cry, do not despair,
It will be for a great cause,
The freedom to be murdered.
,שָׁלוֹם חֲבֵרִים
,מִזְּמַן לֹא הִתְרַאֵינוּ
,קָשֶׁה כָּכָה
.אֲנִי לֹא בְּעִנְיָן שֶׁל מַצֵּבוֹת
,מִדֵּי פַּעַם יוֹצֵא לִי לְדַבֶּר אִתְּךָ
,אוֹ אִתְּךָ
.אוֹ אִתְּךָ
,אַף פַּעַם לֹא בַּיַּחַד
.וְתָמִיד בְּזְּמַנִּים לֹא מְתֻכְנָנִים
,שָׁלוֹם חֲבֵרִים
,עָבַר הָמוֹן זְמַן מֵאָז שֶׁהִתְרַאֵינוּ
.שָׁנִים, יוֹבְלוֹת, חַיִּים שְׁלֵּמִּים
,קָרוּ מִלְיוֹן דְּבָרִים מֵאָז
,לִמּוּדִים, מִשְׁפָּחָה, קַרְיֵירָה
.דְּבָרִים שֶׁל מְבֻגָּרִים
,אַתֶּם נִשְׁאַרְתֶּם אָז
,בְּנֵי עֶשְׂרִים וּמַשֶּׁהוּ
.אוֹ אֲפִלּוּ לֹא כִּמְעַט
,שָׁלוֹם חֲבֵרִים
.חַיִּים שְׁלֵּמִּים חָלְפוּ מֵאָז הַתִּיכוֹן וְהַצָּבָא
.הַיּוֹם הוּא יוֹם שֶׁבּוֹ זוֹכְרִים אֶת כֻּלָּם בְּבַת אַחַת
,קָשֶׁה, כִּי אָז כֻּלָּם שָׁם
,וְרוֹעֵשׁ וְעָמוּס וּמֵעִיק
.וְאֵין אֶת הָאִינְטִימִיוּת שֶׁבְּשִׂיחָה שְׁקֵטָה וְאַקְרָאִית
.בִּכְלָל, בָּתֵּי קְּבָרוֹת הֵם לֹא מָקוֹם בִּשְׁבִיל זֶה
,עָדִיף אוּלַי לְהַמְתִּין כַּמָּה יָמִים
.לְשׁוֹךְ הַטְּקָסִים וְכַתָּבוֹת הַזִיכָּרוֹן
,נַמְשִׁיךְ לְשׂוֹחֵחַ אָז
.חֲבֵרִים
Hello friends,
We haven’t seen each other for some time,
It’s tough this way,
I am not really into gravestones.
From time to time I get to talk with you,
Or with you,
Or with you,
Never at the same time,
And always at unplanned times.
Hello friends,
We haven’t seen each other for a long time,
Years, jubilees, a whole lifetime,
A million things had happened since,
Studies, family, career
Adult things.
You remained then,
Twenty-something old,
Or not even that.
Hello friends,
A lifetime had passed since high school and the army service,
Today is a day we remember everyone at once.
It’s difficult because everyone is there,
And it’s loud and busy and onerous,
And there isn’t the intimacy of a quiet random conversation.
Anyway, cemeteries are not a place for that.
Perhaps it’s better to wait a few days,
For the cessation of the ceremonies and memorial editorials,
We shall continue to talk then,
Friends.
,בְּסּוֹף הַיּוֹם
I’m underwater,