The Children, by Yehuda Amichai

Every day the children run on the playground.

With the movements of their little legs, they rotate

the planet like in a circus,

they want to be acrobats and magicians.

 

Every night the children thank us for having brought them

into the world. With beautiful politeness, they raise themselves

in their beds and with tiny future arms

they cling on a stiff-neck, the longing

of their parents are their toys.

Then they lie on their backs

like ceiling painters of prayer-houses

and paint for themselves beautiful skies.

 

I open the window:

All the outer space passes through the room

and I forgive then to my parents that made me.

I sit next to the children until they fall asleep

and I say seven times

as the closing prayer of Yom Kippur:

“I am not God”,

seven times,

I am not God.

 

Done