AFTER THE WAR- 2
(In the wood)
...Suddenly her voice fades. The pine trees vanish.
Grey mist moves over– shapeless monsters creep closer,
Obscuring her face. The sky is a black shell, he is moving within.
The winter sun bleeds, its dying rays, blurring the lush
Of pine trees, erasing the merriment of marigolds and poppies.
Dust dulls his mouth. The sweat in his eyes blinds him .
Someone, perhaps something, is laughs at him, mocks him–
A piercing shriek. Shells whistle–
The jeep hits a land mine. His friends–torn corpses.
His clothes drenched in Don’s blood. He presses his palm
To the gaping wound in Dan’s throat. Taste of blood in his mouth,
He inhales blood. Blood spots his face, hands, eyes –
Dan! He screams, Don’t die!
Dan is dead – Just like that.
The rage threatens again to swallow his sanity
Nausea chocks him, ghastly, helpless sensation;
Death. Obliteration.
His mind locks On the image of death...
Someone touches his hand –alight pressure.
He turns his head. Out of his chaos he looks
Into her uplifted faintly flushed face. vivid eyes.
Life - Love? “Yes,” he says.
She smiles at him. At that moment,
A light evening breeze begins to blows. The pine trees rustle,
Sparrow are chirping. Marigold and poppies in a merriment dance.
They look at each other. Tortured. He takes her hand.
They seat in silence, listening to their dead, their eyes following the
Winter sun, bleeding its last rays on the trees tops.
AFTER THE WAR 1
ReplyDelete(Israel)
The flat.
The stunned.
The trembling.
The darkened
houses.
The locked doors.
(The love?)
The images of soldiers’
corpses
Never cease to appear
In a crazed dance.
(I can’t hide my eyes).
Treading on a hair,
Tossed inside chaotic void
between two countries.
(Mother, where are you?)
Straining to see
Who is alive under
The blankets?
(feet, I see only feet.)
From the silences
And the shouts
Of anguish,
From the dark,
From dread.
Rise! You, ancient country.
(I love you daddy why are you are dead)
W
Dear Lady Ilana Haley,
ReplyDeleteWho else can satiate the thirst and hunger of the hearts excepting you with such poetry!
"...Life - Love? “Yes,” he says.
She smiles at him. At that moment,
A light evening breeze begins to blows. The pine trees rustle,
Sparrow are chirping. Marigold and poppies in a merriment dance.
They look at each other. Tortured. He takes her hand.
They seat in silence, listening to their dead, their eyes following the
Winter sun, bleeding its last rays on the trees tops.
Hats off to you again,
VARAPRASAD NVLN
zemini77@gmail.com
It is you! How wonderful to hear from you again. Imissed you.
ReplyDeleteLove you
Ilana
THE TIME BEFORE
ReplyDeleteI will return
I will return one day to the land
Where I met him–
There was the hour before.
He did not know that I existed
I didn’t know he was alive.
It was some sort of miracle
That he was alive.
I did not know that the first hour
Or the hour before– that came much later on,
The second hour, or was it the first?
Anyway it is still the time before,
I will return, I will return.
When I return what name shall I give you,
What name?
I shall give you the name Adam
You should love that name,
So should I–it suits you.
I shall love your name, the man you are
(the boy you were)
My Adam who walks this earth.
I can’t give you your name just yet–
I don’t know you yet– it is still the time before.
I wonder what name you will give me
When we wee meet.
They say I have diaspora eyes,
But you cannot call me that.
Anyway, it is still the time before–
ReplyDeleteA MEMORY OF THE BEAUTIFUL BEDOUIN WOMAN
(Bedouins are a nomadic tribe that live in the Sinai Desert)
A vision, a pictured vision:
a Bedouin woman walking
with her husband and small boy.
Holding their baby in her arms,
she was the picture of colorful vision
caught in the sun's rays.
A modern madonna was the fleeting
first impression of my listening gaze.
Unusually tall; walking
proud and gracefully:
willowy yet strong.
Her face was beyond measure,
lovely outwardly;
inwardly.
She was unbelievably exquisite;
this modern antique Madonna, with
infant enfolded in her arms.
Suddenly she must have sensed
my presence, my feelings,
my woman's eyes...
Clothed in black...
enfolded from head to foot,
encased in blazing sun,
silhouette,
she turned and smiled.
I captured this smile –
this image of exquisite perfection.
She was the purity of happiness;
the purification of joy.
Her presence engraved a portrait
upon my spirit with her long, oval,
enormously slanted dark eyes,
hollowed high cheek-bones,
finely etched smiling mouth;
wondrously shaped, sensuously sweet
yet delicately carved.
Proud sweet feeling like a laughter gaze
on moon-blackened light.
Cradled infant, man, boy.
I engrave her portrait upon my spirit.
For a sound-splintered second
she returned, isolated in motion;
emotional space; then vanished once more
from sight of time beyond life
Keep this blog working
ReplyDelete