Yehuda Amichai
WE
DID WHAT WAS EXPECTED
OF US
We did what was expected of us.
We went out with our children
to pick mushrooms in the same forest
we'd planted when we were children.
We learned the names of wild flowers
whose smell was as sweet
as senselessly spilt blood.
We put great love into small bodies.
We stood alternately enlarged and diminished
in the eyes of the mad, divine bearer of binoculars.
And in the war between light and darkness
we loved the good and quieting dark,
and hated the aching light
We did what was expected of us.
We loved our children
more than our homeland.
We've dug all the wells in the ground
and now we're digging into space -
wells, wells, without beginning and without end.
We did what was expected of us.
We arranged our lives in flower beds and shade,
and straight pleasant walks
as
in the garden of an asylum for the insane.
Our despair is domesticated and grants us tranquility.
Only the hopes remain -
wild and vociferous hopes
break the night and tear the day.
