Yonit
Just four years old and the world has collapsed.
Her father’s gone. She must’ve done something wrong.
She can’t see it any other way yet: she is the center
of her own universe. Her brains, at this stage developed
to do little more than playing, figuring out the things
right next to her, scrambles for reasons. It must be her fault.
Four years old, she thinks she will pick up the pieces,
be a good girl from now on, rebuild her immature life.
Fourty years later she looks back. The world did indeed
shatter, and the shards have nearly killed her – literally.
Now she knows – the glass is sharp, and the only way
to stay unharmed is to hold them with loving kindness.
Yonit
The windows are open. A breeze.
Familiar room. Familiar animals.
Me, sitting here, being what I am.
And me being different tonight.
Inevitable change. A strange thought.
Yonit
The gleam in the eye of the mother.
She carried her baby under her heart,
now she holds it in her arms and I see:
this is the most beautiful baby ever.
There is no argument possible.
The baby will grow up, become a person.
But whatever it will become,
it will always remain its mothers child.
Even the mothers of murderers
confess to this: this is still my child.
My baby. And I remember him
from before all this happened.
And the child will love his mother.
Always. Critically maybe, at times,
but unconditionally. And it longs for
that proud gleam in the eye of the mother.
Yonit
It wasn’t new to me.
The clamminess of being alone.
The scraping for attention.
The begging for a life.
But when it happened, again,
I was caught unawares.
It had been autumn for too long.
Cold winds. Unprotected.
My spring came hesitantly.
Is unruly. Unpredictable.
Should I let it continue or
choose conscious hibernation?
Yonit
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamonds glints on snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight
I am the soft stars that shine at night
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there, I did not die
Laatste reacties