Sunday, November 3, 2013

Wildpeace. (Yehuda Amichai)

 
Wildpeace
 
Not the peace of a cease-fire 
not even the vision of the wolf and the lamb, 
but rather 
as in the heart when the excitement is over 
and you can talk only about a great weariness. 
I know that I know how to kill, that makes me an adult. 
And my son plays with a toy gun that knows 
how to open and close its eyes and say Mama. 
A peace 
without the big noise of beating swords into ploughshares,
without words, without 
the thud of the heavy rubber stamp: let it be 
light, floating, like lazy white foam. 
A little rest for the wounds - who speaks of healing? 
(And the howl of the orphans is passed from one generation 
to the next, as in a relay race: 
the baton never falls.) 
 
Let it come 
like wildflowers, 
suddenly, because the field 
must have it: wildpeace. 
 
~ Yehuda Amichai ~
 
(The Selected Poetry of Yehuda Amichai, translated by Chana Bloch and Stephen Mitchell)
 

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