And as Far as Abu Ghosh
And as far as Abu Ghosh we were silent
and as far as old age I will love you
at the foot of the hill of horrors,
in the den of the winds. And in Sha’ar Ha-Gai
the angels of the three religions stepped down into
the road. Faith in one god is still heavy. And with words
of pain I must describe the fig trees
and what happened to me, which wasn’t my fault. Sand
was blown into my eyes and became tears. And in Ramla
small planes were parked, and large nameless dead. The scent
of orange groves touched my blood. My blood looked
over its shoulder to see who touched. Winds, like actors, began
to put on their costumes again so that they could act before us,
their masks of house and mountain and woods,
makeup of sunset and night.
From there other roads began.
And my heart was covered with dreams, like my shiny
shoes, which were covered with dust.
For dreams too are a long road
whose end I will never reach.
-Yehuda Amichai
