The day passes. We’ve gained some time.
Our days pass by in trash dreams.
Once I knew a boy
who waited for his life
and found his death.
His death
leavening
was a warning shot to me.
A dozing generation that awaits a miracle.
Waits in vain to the ends of its strength.
Wait. Maybe somewhere
in the ground of the seventh heaven
the best of our pilots
will discover cosmic oil
our blood is the world’s petrol.
Translated by Karen Alkalay-Gut