Anat Ghelber
Some people call me Ana

Poems by a Jewish lady

These poems are dedicated to any woman who is going through a hard time:

Everywhere I go, the disbelief is there. I am bleeding, screaming, burning and they just let it flare. The despair that is sitting right on the edge, the breath that I force to take is all and all my plan to unravel my way so that I can get the help that I need, maybe today or some other far-fetched day.

It’s hard to be a woman, it’s hard. To walk on fire with a broken tire. Unbearable pain, you wonder if it’s all a game. “Look at them,” they say. “It’s plain. It doesn’t even have a name.” If I walk next to you today, would you smile or walk away? It’s hard to be a woman today, more than any other day. 

She is like the summer in the desert, warm and bright and when it gets dark, she is windy and light. Like the clouds on a rainy day, she pours and can’t be explained, not with a pen or clay. As she throws seeds of goodness everywhere, in love with her you will be.  Be careful because she might make you cry. It isn’t her fault. She was born a diamond in the garden. There she is, she shines. Her ray so strong it comes right through you. Her mission is to go. Her mission is to stay. There she is, filling every dark spot with her light. It’s what she does. It’s who she is.  Don’t wait for her to appease.

Slowly but surely, you moved away and found your truth, though the harsh consequences kept occurring and karma was standing at the corner of your house. You found your wisdom deep inside, spreading your wings and flew into the wild. There in solitude, you found comfort, you closed the gate of doubt and let the ghosts deal with their own luggage. There you found the voice of God, the voice that was in you all along. You treasured it and didn’t let it go.

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