Poems

The Language of my Parents

In my mother there is a break
In the heart of language
Like a head
Scarf
Covering her roots.

 

In my father there is a language
Neglected
Like a baby forgotten
In some Ben Gurion tent,
Like a periphery
Forgotten by god.

 

From the ruins of the language of my parents
I shall build a house for my children:

 

No middle
Without beginning

 

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