Wednesday, March 25, 2009

myrrh and oranges

Will I die in the warm arms of exile?
I am afraid
That my heart will not remain
Good food and wine dull hunger
And a lover’s kiss steals solitude
I pray for restlessness,
Peace is a curse to me,
Comfort is a scourge,
Will dream drown in contentment?
Will desire be smothered?
Do not call to me, Beloved,
Send me no letter but a warm Eastern wind,
Carrying myrrh and oranges.
For lacking word of you
I will seek you,
Nothing of this world
Can fill my emptiness
But your own emptiness
Silent, frightening, ever-questioning,
Covered by a black desert sky.

1 comment:

Zohar said...

Kol hakavod! Keep writing, your words are beautiful.