ISN’T IT ENOUGH?
I gave up love
being satisfied with the quiet of shadows
Time was past, lost,
by the rain of bombs.
I don’t brush my dreams any more.
I don’t care for the wandering sun any more.
I leave the frightened moon in the sky
to shelter under the ground.
I am neither a woman nor a poet any more.
Night by night
more and more,
I feel real.
Like the bloody sound of alarms,
Like the roaring anti-aircraft rounds,
Like the falling bombs and rockets,
which turn the ruins and ashes
into eternal reality;
I feel night by night more real
so old and real that in the mirror
I see nothing anymore
but an aisle of empty chairs.
Oh, isn’t it enough?
What does a man need
more than a loaf of bread,
a quiet night
and an armful of bleak love,
for giving up and being satisfied
with the quiet of shadows