The first rain reminds me Of the rising summer dust.
Out of three or four in the room One is always standing at the window.
Half the people in the world love the other half, half the people hate the other half.
I don't Know if history repeats itself But I do know that you don't.
All night the army came up from Gilgal To get to the killing field, and that's all.
And we shall not get excited. Because a translator May not get excited. Calmly, we shall pass on
The memory of my father is wrapped up in white paper, like sandwiches taken for a day at work.
My child wafts peace. When I lean over him,
On a little hill amid fertile fields lies a small cemetery, a Jewish cemetery behind a rusty gate, hidden by shrubs,
A precise woman with a short haircut brings order to my thoughts and my dresser drawers,
Forgetting someone is like forgetting to turn off the light in the backyard so it stays lit all the next day
I have become very hairy all over my body. I'm afraid they'll start hunting me because of my fur.
An Arab shepherd is searching for his goat on Mount Zion And on the opposite hill I am searching for my little boy.
By classicpoet
Memorial day for the war dead. Add now the grief of all your losses to their grief,
They amputated Your thighs off my hips.
Do not accept these rains that come too late. Better to linger. Make your pain
I know a man who photographed the view he saw
Hebrew writing and Arabic writing go from east to west, Latin writing, from west to east.
Try to remember some details. Remember the clothing of the one you love
The first rain reminds me Of the rising summer dust.
Out of three or four in the room One is always standing at the window.
Half the people in the world love the other half, half the people hate the other half.
I don't Know if history repeats itself But I do know that you don't.
All night the army came up from Gilgal To get to the killing field, and that's all.
And we shall not get excited. Because a translator May not get excited. Calmly, we shall pass on
The memory of my father is wrapped up in white paper, like sandwiches taken for a day at work.
My child wafts peace. When I lean over him,
On a little hill amid fertile fields lies a small cemetery, a Jewish cemetery behind a rusty gate, hidden by shrubs,
A precise woman with a short haircut brings order to my thoughts and my dresser drawers,
Forgetting someone is like forgetting to turn off the light in the backyard so it stays lit all the next day
I have become very hairy all over my body. I'm afraid they'll start hunting me because of my fur.
An Arab shepherd is searching for his goat on Mount Zion And on the opposite hill I am searching for my little boy.
By classicpoet
Memorial day for the war dead. Add now the grief of all your losses to their grief,
They amputated Your thighs off my hips.
Do not accept these rains that come too late. Better to linger. Make your pain
I know a man who photographed the view he saw
Hebrew writing and Arabic writing go from east to west, Latin writing, from west to east.
Try to remember some details. Remember the clothing of the one you love