From west to east, a baby beams
like sunlight in a wicker cot.
Grandmas fold hairless grandsons two days young
in the crooks of their bare arms;
grandfathers hold the spheres of their new heads
easily in their old palms,
smiling. From north to south,
an infant is playing in dust
with water and a stick.
A military man stops on the track: "did you see it? -
the red fox, caught in a wire trap".
Your grown-up daughters, sons,
graduate from school, at last:
all pals in their group, like them, gowned, capped, photographed.
In the middle of the world -
in little Palestine - light's snuffed out.
There is no one to carry. There is no one to hold.
There is no one to catch.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem