A Few More

As you can see I am in a poetic mood. I suppose mourning does that to a person.
This one I translated myself - I'm not sure it does justice to the original, but my take on translated poetry is this: if you can't read the original because you don't know the language, a translation is your only access. So here goes:

We, whose lives by Agi Mishe’ol

We, whose lives so dubious
Softly cradle on our way to the end.
We do not insist on returning to paradise
we do not look for signs
Of the divine spark.

We are collaborators:
We let wicked imagination
We let music
We let witchcraft –
We even use others to bewitch ourselves
We throw them all like a net and fall in love.

We are comfortable in this misty, embracing fog.
Our lives swallowed in the general conduct
Stirring in this little space we have
Turning here and there a bit
We sleep
Satisfied with the unraveled mystery
Of the world.

Our truth changes from minute to minute,
We fulfill human need
Without enlightened moments to blinds us
Or to arouse us.

We wake up hungry for bread.
We want coffee.
We fuck a little.

Still, we are not devoid of feeling
That God loves us
And from time to time angels gather their wings
To rest a while in our company.