Pride

I tell you, even rocks crack
and not because of age
For years they lie on their backs
in the heat and the cold
so many years
it seems peaceful
They do not move, so the cracks stay hidden
A kind of pride
Years pass over them, waiting there
Whoever is going to shatter them
hasn’t come yet
And so the moss flourishes, the seaweed whips around
the sea pushes through and rolls back
the rocks seem motionless
And suddenly the rock has an open wound
I told you, when rocks break, it happens by surprise
And people, too

-Dahlia Ravikovitch-

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