the trial-19.06.17

*artwork- via miscellaneoushi.com

יער מפחיד

 

Tiny seed of longing

Was planted in me when I was two.

I’ve never been asked for a permission

But nevertheless

I’ve taken care of it relentlessly

Fostering it into monstrosity

Letting it

Weave its branches into every supple cell of mine

To keep me buried under

An unrestrainable jungle of thoughts

To sentence me to an infinite

Trial

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picking a scab-14.01.15

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*artwork- “wound” by pejac via artcollectorz.com

 

When I pick a scab,

Tiny echo of ache,

What do I wish to feel?

Quite simple.

To feel.

It’s yearning for yearning.

An infinite plowing through barren fields

Of terrain so hard and  frozen.

Burnt.

Forsaken.

Orphaned.

No woman’s land.

My enslavement to pain

Never loosens its grip.

Devout hostage to sour lump in my throat, I am.

Won’t ever spit out

Won’t ever push in.

That’s right.  For

Being tormented is of rarest value.

26-18.7.11

*artwork-via www.houzz.com

contemporary-artwork

he was the lamb wishing to be the shark,
years of struggling, and he did get there, but i never came,
trying to get rid of myself.
given to the hands of curiosity with nothing to remember
but this empty street and deserted man,
it was easy.
playing in the same team with my own nature, we spent
meaningless hours sprinkled with random talking about books.
suddenly, it occurred that he was so near,
and for almost a year i felt these warm words
followed by cold drops of closeness.
twice i was a coward:
being colorblind, i waited for so long to share, but
he was the one who took my colors, giving none back.
already colorless, i was fleeing
and he let me taste this black and white soup,
it tasted like happiness.
into the wilderness, i got lost, and fell down ,slithered, for
he was the snake.
and he was the snail.
and again i was sinking into the goo i wished to produce,
even though on that moment he was sticky and sweet and melting like sugar.
soon on a night of exhilaration i was the one to hold his hand on a way home,
and we laughed.
then he was beautiful, tearing my skirt he wore, so frozen and distant, i felt.
so that i needed to escape into engineered world of scheduling
and brushing the teeth after every meal, it couldn’t last.
on the roof top we drank sour wine and spilled out well known secrets,
he knew how to surprise my feet and tickle my heart.
i wanted my heart un-ticklish, but it refused to obey, because
he was so upright, and so small, and so much larger than i could ever imagine
or bare, so i let go.
just to see that he was a red head pirate,
fighting his own demons, he could not fight those mine.
on that moment he became roman, forever turning jerusalem into sanctuary.
i got caught up and it all turned into a big mash with a guitar music dressing.
i needed to breath, so now he was showing me his paintings
and i was breath(ing)less again.
that’s why he was young and his hair was big, he played saxophone
during nights and i was smiling.
wearing beautiful dress, and smelling like me and like everyone, i was talking
to him in the dark, and my lips were touching his skin.
i was hiding in holy jerusalem, when he came again, and
took me into his pre-planned world of tomorrow,
we never celebrated the moment.
so i ran away, and then he was worshiping Buddha and climbed mountains,
while i was sad. 

so he came straight from his own reality holding that mirror. he wanted to pull me in, i preferred to fade away.
into what used to be sacred jerusalem,
but only closer to the polluted sea.
all of a sudden, i was near holy heights again:
he was another lamb, hiding in god’s lion skin,
digging out secrets buried in earth,
so delicate and warm, he was,
i thought i can breath for real,
but i was suffocating until i managed to leave.
for long nights i waited for the moment when i could go back dancing
on my own,
and barefoot bear put me under the spotlight and  into the game.
satan was lurking just around the corner, making illusive southern desert look like luxurious oasis, it hurt deliciously.
so i chose to try out north,
the heat was strikingly immense,
but little black eyed demon was as cold as marble.

layered-4.10.10

*artwork-“smoke” by brigitte werner via pixabay.com

smoke-69124_960_720

for more than two hundred and seventy days
i pushed away, it was not easy.
funny it feels, the tips of stiff fingers tremble
and heart pounds so fast.
this face in front of me. still precious? or is it?
just impatience,
covered with thin layer of curiosity
covered with thick layer of urge to destroy.
everything’s so familiar
these feminine hands,
hiding behind ever present cigarette
and convenient smoke.
hello, roman.
i just wanted to say good-bye.
 

ilan-3.01.10

*artwork-“Further up, further In” by sol kjøk via galleriramfjord.net

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i do not care. you can be anyone
when i close my eyes i do not feel
the difference.
eager to be held
and being lied to.
i close my eyes. you can be anyone
do not infect the air with consonants and vowels
the only lie i believe in is your hands
with eyes closed, they feel the same.
when you came to rescue me
the other night, i was glad
but it was not you i was waiting for.
and when you kissed my mouth,
smeared crowd of strangers around us,
i was not kissing you back.
and when i laid in that bed,
all frozen and burning,
it was not your stomach pressed against my spine.

my hair still smells like 1000 cigarettes
and my bed still have the imprint of
another illusion,
but it is your face i do not remember.
again.