Literature, Poetry, Theory/
Mourning
Pride

Dalia Rabikovitz

Even rocks break, I’m telling you

And not because of old age

For years they lay on their backs in the heat and the cold

So many years

There is almost an impression created of tranquillity

They do not move from their place and thus the cracks are hidden

A sort of pride

Many years pass over them in anticipation

Whoever is going to break them

Has still not come

And then the hyssop flourishes, the seaweed gets excited and the sea leaves them and returns

And again, they do not move

Until a small sea lion comes to rub against the rocks

He will come and go

And suddenly the stone is injured

I told you, when rocks break it happens suddenly

And thus people too

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