Mom is our transience

After love there is   transience,
A dog after love ,one sets after
To bite a jealousy of love gone.

A Jewish transience is like ours.
Their mom is like our own ma,
Searching for son in wild bush.

Jew had hid son in it from war
Just like the Indian one asking
Why son had hung high notes.

Indian ma is native transience
A shadow watching tiny bums
As they befouled lonely nights.

And when asked what had you
Bums had no car or bungalow
Just transience watching bum.

(Remembering the poem “for my mother” by Yahuda Amichai)

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