The Poetry of Ehud Grably (1977)

I see the hill Remembering love. I see a hot air balloon then remember the key.

And life is like a ladder, in a never ending climb.

I remember the inside of a watermelon. That stinking smell of red, the same colour as our lives, the same colour of the years.

And the curtain rises slowly, and the star is dying out, and the lights are turned off, and they are asleep.

I think I am red. I think I am orange. I think I am a God. I think I am a flute.

And he thinks he's a singer. And he thinks he's everyone. And he thinks he's the centre. I think he's a coordinator.

Everyone told him he's like that and he thought he was thin.

The lamb in me, ate all the poisonous grass, and died. All that's left is the splash of spit and all his money was invested against the law.

And every night, I return to my death, and die. At first with heavy breathing, until my soul soars, through my bones.

And only the undertakers live and miss out on their day of birth. In the mere act of sleep man returns to the essence of his being, to his birth.

My heart gave out seven throbs, and died. I took it out with trembling hands, and buried it. Dripping its blood, I set out on my way, to the wars.

Ehud Grably, (1977)