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.

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