“Pride” by Dahlia Ravikovitch.

I tell you, even rocks crack,
and not because of age.
For years they lie on thier backs
in the heat and the cold,
so many years,
it seems peaceful.
They dont move, so the cracks stay hidden.
A kind of pride.
Years pass over them, waiting there.
Whoever is going to shatter them
hasn’t come yet.
And so the moss flourishes, the seaweed whips around,
the sea pushes through and rolls back—
the rocks seem motionless.
And suddently the rock has an open wound.
I told you, when rocks break, it happens by surprise.
And people, too.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s