English poetry

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Wildpeace

Wildpeace

Not the peace of a cease-fire
Not even the vision of the wolf and the lamb,
But rather
As in the heart when the excitement is over
And you can talk only about a great weariness.
I know that I know how to kill, that makes me an adult.
And my son plays with a toy gun that knows
How to open and close its eyes and say Mama.
A peace
Without the big noise of beating swords into ploughshares,
Without words, without
The thud of the heavy rubber stamp: let it be
Light, floating, like lazy white foam.
A little rest for the wounds – who speaks of healing?
(And the howl of the orphans is passed from one generation
To the next, as in a relay race:
The baton never falls.)

Let it come
Like wildflowers,
Suddenly, because the field
Must have it: wildpeace.



Poem Wildpeace - Yehuda Amichai