Gaza:
Without any Sound
(Poetic Prose: No: 2776 (8-12-2010)
I looked out upon the black and silver-lit sea (the Mediterranean), lit by the moon’s light and the world around me, in Tel Aviv— As if out of a window, just enough to waken my senses, half-asleep, then went away—returning to my hotel, down and around several streets! Looked out—between the parted curtains (in my room)—into the still and peaceful night, moved my face among the dark, “Gaza, Gaza” I whispered to myself—the curtains fell upon my silent feet.
Voices in the hallway coming out of the night, with no curiosity “Now” I thought, “Could those who live in Gaza safely return home tonight, lock up and go to sleep…” Who and what would they have to surrender to—for; in the middle of the night? What alarm would take place? There I stood in the darkness, in an unresponsive stance, sheltered now from the moon—stood there—as an American visitor—for a long time, pacing the floor.
I thought—to live like that one had to have animal patience; be quiet, still, stone-still without movement: then to occasionally elevate the head to check the immediate scene, with clandestine dashing eyes. Who would make such animals out of people? You need only look towards Gaza!
Without any Sound
(Poetic Prose: No: 2776 (8-12-2010)
I looked out upon the black and silver-lit sea (the Mediterranean), lit by the moon’s light and the world around me, in Tel Aviv— As if out of a window, just enough to waken my senses, half-asleep, then went away—returning to my hotel, down and around several streets! Looked out—between the parted curtains (in my room)—into the still and peaceful night, moved my face among the dark, “Gaza, Gaza” I whispered to myself—the curtains fell upon my silent feet.
Voices in the hallway coming out of the night, with no curiosity “Now” I thought, “Could those who live in Gaza safely return home tonight, lock up and go to sleep…” Who and what would they have to surrender to—for; in the middle of the night? What alarm would take place? There I stood in the darkness, in an unresponsive stance, sheltered now from the moon—stood there—as an American visitor—for a long time, pacing the floor.
I thought—to live like that one had to have animal patience; be quiet, still, stone-still without movement: then to occasionally elevate the head to check the immediate scene, with clandestine dashing eyes. Who would make such animals out of people? You need only look towards Gaza!
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