גירסה עברית http://stage.co.il/Stories/416791


השואה מקרינה עלינו ומייצרת מוטציות. אנחנו מצליחים לשרוד.

Yorek is another consequence of
The dark horror of our people
A boy born on the early fifties
From the bloody burned Poland
Descendant of holocaust refugees
They met by fate and were tied by a glue of hope
In the 'Shcola' he was gathered to friends that just like
him
Were touching themselves daily
To realize reality or imagination
To feel a childhood that teaches
How to go attached to walls
Afraid of the unknown

Yorek remembers that papa promised
To exit Poland toward Zion land
But papa's heart did not succeed
He  died not yet making the first move
With his Mom and his sister to meet
A new hostile life in new land

Yorek survived, now he is a proud father
With his kids the soldiers
Are eating with a spoon and a fork
Like good Polaks
Serving in the most desired troops
Carry out what his father promised
And could not fulfill

But yet every three months like
A Cinderella's clock  
Yorek is coming back
To Poland to the municipal graveyard
to remove dry branches
To wipe the gravestone
and ask like a dumb
"Why did you leave?"
Knowing
That he will never get an answer

At evening in the hotel
When the reception's clerk
She asks him politely, while she swings her ass
"mister speaks very good Polish.
From where are you mister?"
Proudly he leaned
Spits his answer
like a parsley
"I am a 'Zid' from the Land of Israel"

So like the Wandering Jew
Never lasting story
A Z'id in Poland
And a Polak in here
He moves like a pendulum
Between sky and earth
And his beaten soul
Finds no rest
And beats her wings - like a bird
Like a bird that lost her nest


31.07.2005