God Hid His Face
Selected Poems of RAJZEL ZYCHLINSKY
 
Paper Flowers
 
You are not alive 
and you do not fade. 
Never will your goblets 
receive 
a ray of sun, 
a bee, 
her buzzing. 
Even if the sun floods you with rivers of light, 
even if the wind brings from the desert 
the samum,* 
you remain indifferent, 
mute, 
untouchable, 
unreachable. 
Cold gods! 
Only the dust, 
the gray dust,
bows down your heads, 
the gaudy ones.

*A hot, dry desert wind.
 

Translated by Barnett Zumoff 

Back to library

Back to
Back to Shtetl