a poem
actually is a landmark
to a feeling
something happened
and you have no guts
telling it like
a story where the
characters have
vivid dialogues
you are torn
between clarity and
isolation
between that someone
who a while
ago has been stoned and
ostracized
and that important figure
who lies
with admiration
skilled in metaphors
knows how to arrange the
furniture
against the backdrop of
chaos
one poem is a yesterday
the one who was with you
cannot tell if he was
there
you cover a mask with a face
you hide the mole with hair
you give birth to another world
within a world
you write this poem
and you forget whether you have written it
by accident you
meet it again, (was it at the bar or at the
flea market? was it in egypt or israel?)
it smiles at you
gives its real name and tells you
it happened. this is what happened.
continue pretending.
the poem does not betray.
it keeps the fear within.
and what you like most is this:
it hides noise. exudes beauty.
never forgets. but stays graceful
and decent.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem