Piercing The Winds /

By Robert Farkas-Kadmon

(1925-1960)   

O Haya! Haya! Haya!

Haya!

I ride a bus to nowhere.

How fast its rolls from Haifa to Tel Aviv,

From Jerusalem to Tel Aviv,

And over all the phantom roads of an unreal world called Israel.

O roll on bus forever.

I do not want to arrive

At nowhere.

O it is an unreal bus

With silent figures

Who seem to be going somewhere,

When only I know

It is going nowhere.

Is Jerusalem a place when you are not there?

Is Tel Aviv or Haifa a place?

O Haya! My Love!

Love! Love! Love!

I am nowhere and never.

I am a dry husked cornstalk

Waiting the syths.

O in vain I seek your passionate love –

Perhaps it will leap out at me

From behind some bush.

O in vain

O I am ill.

There is neither night nor day.

There is only a nightmare,

And cold phlega in my throat.

O Haya,

I will bend down to the sea,

And perhaps out of her infinite sounds

One word from you she will shape and whisper to me.

O to hear again a word from you –

Just my name as you used to say it.

O what an infinite joy!

O what madness!

O this bus nowhere!

O I seek you everywhere!

I call to you!

Summon you!

Piercing the winds I summon you –

HAAA-YAAaaaa!

19.X.1960