Out of three or four in the room
One is always standing at the window.
Forced to see the injustice amongst the thorns,
The fires on the hills.
And people who left whole
Are brought home in the evening, like small change.
Out of three or four in the room
One is always standing at the window.
Hair dark above his thoughts.
Behind him, the words, wandering, without luggage,
Hearts without provision, prophecies without water
Big stones put there
Standing, closed like letters
With no addresses; and no one to receive them.
Back to Yehuda Amichai
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Comments1I came across a poem today and, though I appreciate the imagery and the general idea it seems to be conveying, I didn't particularly resonate with it. It felt a little too vague and abstract for me to make a strong connection. I like poems that leave room for interpretation but still have an element of clarity, and this one didn't quite strike that balance for me.