Friday, September 11, 2009

HaMa'eiven Yavin

She laughed
As only she could laugh
With passion
So full of life

She was mine
As only she could be
And i was hers….
In a way

The shells came
No shelter
I tasted her blood
The different way

I held her
As only i can hold
And cried
As only she could cry

Not one eye i took
Nor one tooth
My raging grief
Took all there was to take

Their blood
Stained mine and hers
It tasted foul
And bitter

Standing at her grave
In the promised land
My soul went cold
Tears fell on her stone
And froze


The one this poem is dedicated to, was a brave woman named Shirah , only in her early twenties when she died,. The afterlife as i see it, depends on how strong the bond with others was. Although there will hardly be anything left of her physically now, she’s very much alive in my mind. We r connected to this day. Our bond is as strong as it was, when we were making love to each other in the desert, danced in a Haifa disco, or relaxed together at the shores of Yam Ha-melah. I still can feel her touch, i still can hear her voice, and her laugh i will never forget. I expect to meet her more intensely, once i’m dead as well, when i will be less biased and occupied by life. Not in a physical, spiritual, or whatever common way people believe there is after life, but more like an encounter of memory traces, which like all energy, r immortal, and impossible to destroy. At that time i will unite with her once again. Only thing that’s left to find out, is how our lovemaking will manifest itself then.

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