Thirty years.
Is that the name
of a river?
Of whose origin I cant find,
no matter how far I raft.
Of the one that
does not fall into the ocean,
no matter how far it swam.
Of the one that
makes its presence,
though it doesnt exist.
Of the one that doesnt exist,
even if it is there.
Of a wet dream?
Thirty years;
Is that the name
of a boat?
Of the one that floats always,
even in the deepest currents,
For its inside is hollow.
Of the one whose fate is to be afloat,
even in the darkest currents.
Of the one who wants
to turn upside down,
And lament a heart broken cry.
Of a vanity?
Thirty years;
Is that the name
of a tree?
Of the one which doesn't know
the branches, the leaves
and the buds it bears.
Of the one which clenches,
with its tearful roots,
to the sands that drain away.
Of a rheumatism?
Thirty years;anyway,
Would that be the name of a life?
Of a street fight,
which started because it was born;
and continued because it didnt die?
Thirty years - oh god,
What rabits are they!
Of which magicians hat?
*Translated by Simy Nazareth
Woman,
I first thought you were my mother.
But when I knew
what I felt for mother
was not what mother felt for father.
then I thought
you were my nanny
who tricked me from my fathers bedroom
in the pretext of stories
when I knew
nanny wouldnt play with me in mud,
no matter how much I compelled her,
Then I felt
you were my ally from the next alley
And I thought
you were that sex condensed in my fingertip
when I knew
marriage mattered more to juliet
than romeo
Then I felt
you were my wife whom, I worshiped
to the freedom of a locked bedroom
when the flags of revolution were
lowered from my thoughts
and then, in my quest for knowing you;
in my heroisms - you gave birth
woman,
my fate became
that of the one who tasted cianide -
just to know it's taste.
*Translated by Simy Nazareth