(1) Behind the window, when clouds descend down over houses planted into mud, and seeds wake up, clock-hands go back to zero. Cottony fogs veil visions, so we might look inside, then I see a dewy dove carrying an olive bough from the end of earth.
Behind the window, I put on the concealment-hat; men dangle down from their umbrellas at the near street; clothes’ robes commit nudity on the roofs; a lonely bird takes the shape of a hedgehog wearing a suit of fluffy feathers and guards the electricity cables, while faraway, grey lights declare an old weakness, and at the blurry horizon, a mouse-colored smoke ascends up, looking for its origins in the remote forests.
(3) Behind the window, I try to be what I am. A woman whom I don’t know tells me that winter throws us into a book and covers us by a piece of music coming from the house corners. So, I try to be what I should be, but a last summer-fly scatters me when it falls on the cold glass, searching for an exit from its murderous loneliness.
I am 58 years old, from eastern Galilee, Israel (Palestine). I studied English literature, psychology and Law at the Hebrew university (Jerusalem). In the last three years, I published three books of which is dedicated to prose poetry. You are invited to visit the Facebook page Shadows of Water, where I publish my prose poems I translate to English.
A way to the outer world from inside Is the window – an agent certified; Gloomy, depressed, woeful world Is made happy with a small riptide Which comes to the sight of bide Who live in and try to bestride
We left too much behind. A milky moon floating in our coffee Unbuttoned thoughts A mason jar filled with sunshine, And words. Words that still float mid air waiting to be spoken, incomplete, cracked, dusty Do you remember any? And
One face, two lines, three soliloquies, four sets… The list goes on of what all I’ve done. And yet, you don’t know everything that I’ve made. Well, it’s able time to show you. Look around. Do you see what all