For many days now
I’ve been walking back
through hazy Krakow
but I’m not yet home
from the pink sand
and pink limestone
of my Jerusalem.
I’m still returning
from the Wailing Wall.
I still wander
in the narrow labyrinth
of the Via Dolorosa.
Sometimes
the gap above my head
reveals the moon
still full.
I still wander
in the beginning.
Are you a Jew?
an old Hassidim asks,
probably younger than I am.
Yes, I’m a poet—
I want to say for once
but I just smile
and answer:
Schalom, achi!
This year
I bore no fruit
only leaves
which do not give shade
I am afraid, Rabbi,
I am afraid, Lord,
to be cursed by the hungry man
weary of
the infinite road
to Jerusalem
[1986]
Translated by Ewa Chrusciel
EN 
MK