TO THE MEMBERS OF EIN HOD AS THEY "CELEBRATE",WITH BITTERNESS,THE 10TH YEAR OF THE FOUNDING OF THEIR VILLAGE
It: cannot last. This desecration.
You shame the mountains. Their ribs corrode.
The valley thirsts for decency.
This land was gifted. You despoil it.
The wells are poisoned. The birds will die.
The trees are wasted. You don't belong.
The land shall be taken from you.
You : you who bribe the taxi-drivers,
who pre-fix awards, decaying scare-crows,
public relations artists, you
who bend the knee before The Tourist,
care more for comfort than for craft,
who lie while shaking hands, whose word
is garbage, you have not earned these hills.
You : is not the other fellow.
Is you : Aleph neged Beth,
Daled neged Gimmel, Samach
neged Shin, Lamed neged
Nun, Mem neged all,
all neged all ... in malice, slander,
envy, hatred , , , How can birds sing ?
Perhaps the hills are to blame. Perhaps
delusions of grandeur derive from real grandeur.
But what fuels appetite for endless quarrel ?
Why expel the young like lepers ?
Why freeze in cliques, when warmth is pie ?
Why squeeze pennies to be gaped at ?
The generous gesture is absent here.
So I shall pack my mule and move.
And build my tower on a distant hill.
Small birds will perch on my swing. The hawk
will hover. And bless. My garden, yield.
Eve, return. The cat will hum
in gratitude. And we shall feed
on memory of could-have-been.
Norman Lewis 1963, Ein Hod