Until we succeed to turn

Our micro-cosmos, to black or white
To arranged squares or to Prussian lines,
To natural numbers (?)
Till all these laws we enforced ourselves
Will sum by - yes or no
With permission or forbiddance,

Let us, hear   the commands
Of senses, those are really, not laws
And have no logic,
But they are listing
The sadness of our footsteps,
The joy of our day
And with its long nail groove in us
The long deep stripes,
Those,
That burn our segments of memory
And climbing as a sorcery,
Blinking and quenching,
In our slowly certain way,
Toward sunset.

Shall we be blind to the pale light?
To the spark which is kindled?
Shall we be silent as dumb
To the noise of our
Whispering heart


In the heap of ashes?
בתודה לעמית שעזר לי להתגבר על אינגליזמים שוברי שפה
בדרך מ http://stage.co.il/Stories/626347
02/12/06