God Hid His Face
Selected Poems of RAJZEL ZYCHLINSKY
 
On a Sleepless Night

On a sleepless night 
when I have no one to read to me 
from the Book of Memory –
I recall 
a night in a railroad waiting room, 
a strange city, 
a passenger 
whose only baggage 
was his pimpled face. 
Where had he come from? 
Where was he going? 
Perhaps he had no home 
and slept in waiting rooms 
on a bench? 
His pimpled face was silent 
and remains silent 
like a sphinx.
 

Translated by Barnett Zumoff

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