/English translation by Joan Bigge/
It seems like the edge of the world
Where powerful sand blows free
And essence dissolves completely
In thrall to the silent sea..
Forgotten the whispers of ages
The echos of shackles foreworn
All that remains is the memory
Of past songs whose music is gone.
Mere teasing are rustles of leaf fall
Becalming the breezes that rise
yet far from the sandcastle idyll
Detailing God’s holy surprise..
Could God be observing my presence?
A trespasser here in this sand?
No warmth, no reprieve, no forgiveness
Just hope that he will understand?
Poem from the Negev
© Copyright: Лев Бляхер, 2009
Свидетельство о публикации №109052900399
Свидетельство о публикации №109052900399
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