Alexandria
In a dream,
a boy, ten, a girl, five
sit on the sands, playing
their love is a given, and,
like the blue of the
unquestioned
the reel of the dream advances them
to fifteen and twenty
nothing has changed
in their affections,
in
where days are lazy
in the nineteenth century,
where a stroll through the streets,
is the usual evening activity
On this occasion,
her mother meets him,
questions his intentions;
he is not certain, disappointment;
philosophic, mother sits on a bench,
beads wrapped thrice around her neck,
a daughter on either side,
as a photographer captures them
Now he is graduating, an advocate,
with highest honours; in a speech
he declares his love for her,
his plans for marriage
and I rush to find her, tell her
Winds, the screech of a falcon,
the scratch of a cat on the door,
open my eyes to morning,
to wonder if the dream was a glimpse
into a past world, or perhaps a parallel one
Or if somehow I should come across
a photograph, old and yellowed,
of a woman with necklace and daughters,
and know it was so
© 4.2008 Helen Bar-Lev
I Saw You!
I saw you
I saw you!
In the miracle of the moment
when shadows distorted your contours
and candle light traced
down your face
I saw you the way I’ve wanted to
by candle grace
your now face evaporated
replaced by the young man you used to be
in a second of past reality
© 2004 Helen Bar-Lev