The Voice
Ratson Halevi
1964
On a forgone and alien diaspora night,
Far, far in the midst of childhood,
A heavy bottomless darkness closed upon me,
Surrounding me in fear and horror.
Somewhere in Yemen in the district of Sharav,
I’m a boy gathered in the arms of night,
Deeply frightened, twisting and folding over,
Facing the infinitude of time.
Then a muffled, soft voice…
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