Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Gilad Meiri

TO MY SON

The forgiveness I\'m asking from you,
my son, dangles from a fruit tree.
When I arrive to pick it
the branch escapes me.

The forgiveness I\'m whispering to you
swims in the stream like a colorful fish.
When I bend to catch it
the waters recede.

But instead of forgiveness
I find myself rolling words
like stones
on the hill of my tongue

up and down
down and up.

לִבְנִי

לִבְנִי

Close

TO MY SON

The forgiveness I\'m asking from you,
my son, dangles from a fruit tree.
When I arrive to pick it
the branch escapes me.

The forgiveness I\'m whispering to you
swims in the stream like a colorful fish.
When I bend to catch it
the waters recede.

But instead of forgiveness
I find myself rolling words
like stones
on the hill of my tongue

up and down
down and up.

TO MY SON

The forgiveness I\'m asking from you,
my son, dangles from a fruit tree.
When I arrive to pick it
the branch escapes me.

The forgiveness I\'m whispering to you
swims in the stream like a colorful fish.
When I bend to catch it
the waters recede.

But instead of forgiveness
I find myself rolling words
like stones
on the hill of my tongue

up and down
down and up.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
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