IN TRIBUTE TO ANNE FRANK
Tread softly, tread softly,
boots marching to the thud
of a cobblestoned beat.
Tramp on, beat on,
A huddled figure in breathlessness,
Darkened ruins, impaled.
Tread softly, more, more softly.
She clutches ravenous dreams
Towards emaciated glow.
She raises her delicate head, her stalked,
fragile-stemmed neck, raises her woman- child
Limbs emaciated by hunger.
Tramp upon, beat upon, softly.
Tread most softly.
Glistening bridges, water furtively stealing
Through treacherous nights.
This night is beyond night, it is morning,
It is beyond morning. It is night again.
I will laugh and dance
Over bridges curved in sunny air.
Bitter salt of the great ocean
Patiently throbbing.
I will walk, I will run
Spun into green-core earth.
Arrows pierce a woman's heart in still,
Chilled sleep.
She spins, antique bird of velvet
In a carpeted night.
I looked for the world everywhere
But I did not find it.
Child-woman resting
Sleeping peacefully now,
Suspended beyond bridges,
In dusky glow.
In spite of this. I still believe that people are good.
Painting by Nurit Chaderboim
ReplyDeletePoem by Ilana Haley
THE SAGA OF THE NIGHT
ReplyDeleteThe darkness whistles.
The wind agitates the tree-tops.
The leaves rustle their reprise.
A morose moon wanders like a vagabond
on an indifferent sky.
Splashes of diamond-harsh-stars.
Mists shroud primordial earth.
The saga of the night:
The theater of naked yearning,
The dance of demons haunting
The voices of the deep
Confront us with ourselves
and our questions,
Who we are.
The past bleeds into our present,
curdling our sleep.