Poems

The language of my parents

My mother has a crack
In the heart of the language
Like a scarf
Head
Covering her roots.
 
 
My father has a language
Neglected
Like a baby that is forgotten
In a Ben Gurionic 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.