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My poetry

The woman of the thousand voices

The woman of the thousand voices
The woman of the thousand souls
whose bones are all hollow
and her thousand souls run about and cry out
Our Children, Our Children.
They scattered the salt in her heart to preserve the pain
They scattered the salt to blind her eyes and render her tears many and salty
They covered her with blankets of salt to burn the wounds and silence her voice swallowed therein.

Walking on the water

she will be able to pull out her drowning children.



I ironed the uniform
In the creases I inserted prayers
I ironed the place of the heart
so it does not hurt
Mommy don’t cry,
not all soldiers are heroes.


Between my divided souls

Between my divided souls
in Bolivia and Lebanon
as I was building the secret door to the
rose garden of the angels
I was caught in Aza’s fence
like the wounded fox that had been shot twice the day before
and put into a large plastic bag with sterile white gloves
to examine his little body.


Where is she whose body is no longer

Where is she whose body is no longer
in the woolen black dress
Where is she whose body is tired  divided
divided between illuminated babies
How will she feed them all

The physician who examines bodies not souls
maintained there was no baby in her body
but she knows there is a baby in her heart
and she must nourish him with angels’ food
warm and wrap him in the cradle of hearts

When born he said she was doomed to die
and in every act he kills her over and over again
she asked if the mud was in his mouth
she asked if the mud was in his heart
and she sunk it in
the whitened acts are lit
and the dark absorbed within.


Yes mother, my blue soul is full of hard corridors

Pulling myself to see blue in black eyes.
Pulling myself to see gold in the dark.
Pulling my body to a place of color
to touch the salt  
to remove the curse
to preserve the blue heart.


Painting will heal me
from stones absorbed in me at daytime
dissolved at night.
Painting will heal me from the grief
so that madness doesn’t seize my bones
while I try to live.


After the thousand deaths
the death that filled my bones
began dripping out and blending in the world
It was replaced by the birds that filled the empty spaces in my hollow bones
And thus I was born alive

With the mantle of birds that can be sent off to nest in wanting souls.

After years of lengthy death at nights
and slow bleeding
I was born alive
the wounded blood was replaced with the blood of life
and instead of screams I have songbirds dressed in robes of glowing light
dwelling within me.


I emerged from the stain of blood onto the stain of light
the dripping of dull pain was replaced by light stains.
I was born walking on water
now I can fly.


The bird that accompanies her
watches over so she does not drown
And if she drowns
that she does not lose the will to re-surface
even when the light is slight and fragile.


In my eyes reside blue birds
that I send out to see.
Each bird returns with brimful eyes
and the room is filled with eyes that have seen life.

The woman of the thousand voices has fallen silent
The woman of the thousand eyes has fallen blind
She must forgive and thus regain her powers of compassion
to become the great woman of the thousand voices of forgiveness.


Don’t let the blinding substance blind your eyes
Don’t let the blocking substance block your body
Don’t let the heavy substance burden your heart.
Stay away from the burying ground
Be the fire on the water.


I call you with all the powers of light
with my thousand voices
in all the labyrinths
in the harsh corridors where I once called for my mother
I walk on and call your name
Will the thousand voices
go through the thousand corridors
and reach your heart
and echo in the thousand corridors of the chamber of your heart

Will you hear the thousand voices of light

that are devoid of darkness


She must cross the room
overcome all the pitfalls of fear
reach the balcony
where they await.
There she would be the woman of the thousand voices
and utter all those words that would echo in their hearts

The woman who bears birds
from them she would learn to fly
The woman who bears birds
With them she shall sing


You will go from land to land
Be the bleeding heart of the world
Its screaming mouth
You will go from land to land
Be living heart of the world
Its poetry.


Your opportunity

My finest works are now for sale and can be purchased.
Many of my works are displayed in galleries around the world.
Every artwork of mine is unique and one of a kind.

My Contacts

Phone: +972 55 664 7744
Fax: +972 89 957 438
Skype: RuthD
Address: 51 Nof St.
Arad, ISRAEL 89700