JERUSALEM, I've
left home, nothing is left there for me, its a ghost
town, no life, no soul, I need life, I need soul, its the
blood running through my vains, sweet, warm, bright,
dark, my life has to reflect that image. I find myself in
Israel, land of honey and milk, honey, milk - goodness,
drink it when you are ill, when you cannot sleep, honey
and milk - they bring calmness. Is that why I'm here?
Does Israel reflect sweet, warm, bright, dark calmness? I
find myself in Jerusalem, bright, dark, warm, sweet
calmness. The smell of herbal incense is strong,
engulfing me trapped in my curious nostrils, who sniff
and sniff, my eyes are drawn everywhere, a schizophrenic
blend of left no right, no left, no right, the hidden
voice of this mix is my mind, which is open, gates will
let in any image, high tech. Mind computer will store
image, imaginary teacher will sort out image, good pile,
bad pile, trash can, never to be seen again.
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| In
the old quarter, I feel a lack of calmness, shrieking
voices, hands pushing, grabbing, bodies squeezing me,
behind and infront, I can feel his chest on my back, his
heart - a fast rhythm, his pelvic area, strong and
masculine pressing into the small of my back, his smell -
foreign to me, a mixture of exotic spices, herbs picked
from the deepest hills, he’s breathing heavy on the
back of my neck, he is speaking to me, what he says I do
not know - persistence, sexual, begging, warning. A
woman, few teeth left, hair framing her face in an
electric fashion, clothes cover her once able body, she
is trying to show me material, my eyes want to be on the
back of my neck, where is the man? He is still there, he
wants me to buy material off him also, they cry
“fifty shekels, fifty shekels” - a mixture of
Hebrew and Arabic. More people similar to the man and
woman are all around me, they know, my lonely planet
tea-shirt clings to my body, which is tired, hot and
sweaty, they know, tourists like me are easy to spot,
vulnerable, filled with curiosity, sweet, warm, bright,
dark, honey and milk all around me. |
| Buildings
- old, an architect's challenge, crumble, grey, dirty
washing on line, kid on doorstep, face dirty, sick cat at
her feet, dirtiness unhygenic, I want to be clean, rid of
impurities, rid of poverty, surroundings are surreal to
me, dreams, nightmares, news bulletins, National
geographic, glossy photos show the image through my mind,
turn the page, flick the channel and you have comfortable
images, a child - warm and safe, a cartoon - funny and
hidden from danger, a sofa to hide behind , here is no
page to turn, no channel to flick, no sofa. Corner after
corner I can turn, no safe image, no clean child, no
funny cartoon. I need rest, food, the smell of meat, raw,
red, blood - cold no life, my mouth, dry, my face damp,
eyes bright, fairground without the rides, no furry
teddies here, no sweet popcorn, correction, the road I am
on spins like a ride, I am the innocent passenger,
fairgoers watch, they think is she enjoying her ride? Is
she safe? Will she fall? I buy a falafel from a
man, grey, old, holocaust beaten face, a historic sight
in a open air museum, free entry.
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| Copyright
Dalia Hawley, please do not copy without permission |