Aleph

To be old and white

And not ashamed to walk in the rain  with a black umbrella,

To be obviously painted in white

Like an old-fashioned mill,

 

So white that even the white cherry petals are

Too heavy for the top of your head

Such as  you look out of place

Compared with other people, with the red cars, with the rain

Within children’s nostrils

 

You keep on walking, wise like a tin toy drummer,

Bringing to life the whole orchestra,

Waking up those who believed they were awake,

You are the white of the paper

Upon which the world wrote a masterpiece

And erased it