Sat, 06/13/2020 - 07:12 -- sbeeri

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?"


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 July, 2005

This poem is about: 
My community


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