To the Living Friend

by Drora Matlofsky

Do not think that when I die,
You will see me never more,
Do not think the heavens high,
They can reach down to your door.
You heard music; that was I.

Pain that causes you to cry,
Through your endless, sleepless night,
Bitter tears that blind your eye
Turn to dreams of sweetest light.
Taste of honey; that was I.

In the graveyard where we lie,
Do not think we are mere bones,
Lifeless, soulless, loveless, dry.
Keep away from musty stones.
Scent of jasmine; that was I.

Gaze no more at birds that fly,
God is closer than you know.
Hear the wind in bushes sigh,
See the river's endless flow.
Golden sunset; that was I.

In your fruitless search for why,
Meditating riddles old,
Do not question troubled sky.
Dancing leaves of autumn gold
Kissed your forehead; that was I.

Life that made your friend so shy
Left too many things unsaid;
Someone hiding from your eye,
Whom you think is now long dead,
Loved you deeply; that was I.

Drora Matlofsky has been living in Jerusalem since 1984. Her poetry in English has appeared in various poetry and Jewish magazines and her poetry in French can be found on the Poésie Française site.

Last updated July 10, 2021