Breaking Passports

Photo – Boaz Arad – Barack Moyal and me. Poetic Hafla #2

Passports also break I tell you,

Passports also become worn out over the years, made by strangers, exchanged across inhuman borders

Passports also lie, that they are always new, like a biometric seal of worn out, tired, rough and diminishing skin

Passports also become refugees, when the dream’s stars do not immigrate in time from the night’s darkness

Passports are also jailed when the wall turns into a wedding, and hope remains single

Passports also struggle to pull out of the earth, which pretends being a pillow, and its heart is tough, and cold, dry-land of frozen lava

Passports also continue going to work, and not read and write the way out of the prison of thought

Passports are also saddened, when we discover that you went missing between waves of broken glass

Passports also get lost, when confronted by a prayer that does not have you in its end

“Our love has no passport,” you answer me, and write a new poet in the heart of the world

Translated by Naaman Hirsfeld


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