i wanted to transcribe this poem

by yehuda amichai

sorry for any copyright infringement
but as you can see i don't take ads.




All these make a dance rhythm

When a man grows older his life becomes less dependent
on the rhythms of time and its seasons. Darkness sometimes
falls right in the middle of an embrace
of two people at a window; or summer comes to an end
during a love affair, while the love goes on
into autumn; or a man dies suddenly in the middle of speaking
and his words remain there on either side; or the same rain
falls on the one who says goodbye and goes
and on the one who says it and stays; or a single thought
wanders through cities and villages and many countries
in the head of a man who is traveling.

All these make a strange
dance rhythm. But I don't know who's dancing to it
or who's calling the tune.

A while back, I founc an old photo of myself
with a little girl who died long ago.
We were sitting together, hugging as children do,
in front of a wall where a pear tree stood: her one hand
on my shoulder and the other one free, reaching out from the dead
to me, now.

And i knew that the hope of the dead is their past
and God has taken it.