Where there is no more my home, no more my mother,
There is my blue home and there is my mother.

Perhaps someone lives who still recalls her face.
Among copper scorpions I will walk to seek him.

Elijah, I shall call him. Elijah.
Him, the Chosen One, who recalls my mother's face.

I will kiss his feet and beg: Elijah,
By virtue of my wounds — please, breathe out her face.

Just for a moment. If it's too long: half a moment.
With the rest of my years I am prepared to pay.

Oy, as to a branch of last cherries, through a mist,
I shall come close, and fear to come closer.

In that half moment, I shall ask: Tell me, mother,
Could the Creator look you in the eye?

1968