[Translated from Hebrew by the author]
In Tel Aviv
Trees wither slowly
in the Summer,
Elderly trees
Stuck in dry pits
Besieged by concrete
Severed from water.
In Tel Aviv
Trees are taken for granted
Exist as if by themselves
Burrowing desperately for water
In the dirt of the camel roads where they grew
in the junctions on the planes
that are now coated with asphalt.
In Tel Aviv
Trees that have turned brown
by the end of Summer
are cut down;
The Authority plants new ones
In the cavities, a variety without blooms
So that they don't mess up the pavements
When the blossoms fall.
In Tel Aviv
The workers will arrive in the cool night,
A Jew and a Palestinian,
Driving a small truck carrying a round
Water tank attached to a hose,
They will water the young plants twice a week
And collect their salary from the bank
Once a month.
I don't know how it is
In other cities of the land
But I've heard that in Argentine
There are no trees at all
Only huge grazing grounds
With cows
And they too are destined
For slaughter.
©
המציאות הנו מקרי בהחלט. אין צוות האתר ו/או
הנהלת האתר אחראים לנזק, אבדן, אי נוחות, עגמת
נפש וכיו''ב תוצאות, ישירות או עקיפות, שייגרמו
לך או לכל צד שלישי בשל מסרים שיפורסמו
ביצירות, שהנם באחריות היוצר בלבד.