There have been between me and poetry a wall,
not a puny Israeli war that future Palestinians
will use as building material, I mean proper
Walls like the Chinese wall and now I’m nearing
Will a vista of beauty open up on the other side?
Of talking trees sweet-smelling flowers and
thorny bushes who pricks me sensually, apes
who I can converse with, or will a being tell me
what I have long suspected, you are not a poet
just a man who likes to write.
If I were a snake, I could leave myself behind
but it doesn`t work that way, wherever I go,
what my mind see, can`t be erased by a view
of a reborn person.