Naftali Primor, Poetry

נפתלי פרימור, שירתי

משורר צעיר בליבו ששירתו התפתחה בגיל מאוחר. הרגישו מוזמנים להשתתף בחווית שירתי.

It’s a third day in a row
That the desert wind blows.
No relief to my soul
Hot sand on my face is thrown
Dust gets in the narrow slit
Between the eye and the lid
Closing my eyes to take away the pain
Would not make it change its way
Halting it will be in vain
It is spreading its rules
It is his reign.

If he is victorious,
Blackness will cover all my thoughts
No life for me remains
If the Desert Wind spreads.
Its dry laugh declares conquest
He is in an ecstasy of power.
Triumph is his fulfillment.
It claims to posses all of the planet earth
Shoving heaps of the dust and sand
From the Arabian Desert across other's lands.
The sky and land are separate no more.
It penetrates my skin and the flesh.
Turning me into dirt.
No way for me to stop its path
Can it succeed in evaporating the seas
Crossing the dry oceans
Or, in a horrible cry
will commit suicide
Sinking in its deepest underside.

I can't oppose its doings
But still free I'm holding on.
Suddenly another powerful wind
Comes from the Western Sea.
Struggling, lifting pushing each other
The Desert Wind retreats.
Soon it will be on its way
Claiming it again.