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From the Edges of the Earth

The Poetry of Zvi Yair

The One
In my youth/ My eyes beheld/ Realities to the millions...
No sooner Done the deed
They always proceed To feed
Why not / As a withered bloom / As a beast of field / Whose time has come / Meek and tranquil / Do I bow my head / And cease?
Freedom of Choice
Once there was/ A mighty king/
And in all lands of his kingdom/ No man lifted/
Hand nor foot/ Without his say
The Survivor's Prayer
Over this one thing
I implore You:
That my cup of gratitude
With a tear is laced
Ratzo V'Shov
(a d'vaikus talk)
The droplet yearns for the source. The spark craves the great fire. Shall we plunge into the sea of Nothingness?
The Ascent of the Tzaddik
I no longer see
A table, a chair, a lamp . . .
Only letters do I see
The Cry of the Holy Sparks
From the beauty of the creature/ From the longings of the flesh/ Sparks of Your fire/ Strewn there/ By the pound/ Of Your creation-hammer/ Called to him...
The Foundation
Solitary and without friend/ Is he/ Therefore/ Every man/ Is his brother
The Spark That Shall Never Die
This one night/ Allow my fantasy/ That death/ I will not see
Mealtime Guests
They stand behind our chair
Holding on to the fork in our hand...
A Story About a Prince
"Tell us a story, Grandpa!" begged the children. "Tell us a story about a prince..."