Crossing the Allenby Bridge to Go home

The bridge gate opens

The bus shipping us

from bank to bank 

slowly moves

on the border-crossing bridge

I turn my face to the left

and gaze through the dirty pane

The same reed thicket –

by which I was intrigued –

motionless, dark, deep

and spooky

like a haunted forest

The bus comes to a halt

the engine continues roaring.

the front door opens

the muzzle of a light uzi peeks in

“Leave all your stuff and get off,” says the driver,

“one by one.”

We rise

The stern suspicious eyes observing   

“Yalla Yalla,” beckoning with his uzi 

In the crowded bus the faces shine with sweat

casting their eyes through the glass panes  

like a frightened gazelle

“Yalla Yalla,” again

We get off the bus

and stand on the sidewalk

as he climbs up

The vigilant head moving   

forward right left

forward right left 

forward right left…   

I turn around

the murky river

thin and sluggish

hesitantly creeping towards its end

a fish jumps up in the air and dives  

Splash

then another fish

and another

stirring the peaceful waters

It must be cool down there, I thought,

the sun cooking my head  

“Yalla Yalla”

Startled, I turned around again   

The uzi was waving right and left: “Yalla Yalla”

We climbed back and were all inside

and the bus moved up the slope   

I looked once more  

The Jordan was still rolling south

“Going to the salty sea!” I heard me whisper,

“a few kilometers and you’ll be home.”  

You’re going home too, the small waves murmured   

I’m going home…

yes yes, I’m going home…

and on the road

my soul will have to take a few tough tests…

But

there is always a chance –

a chance to

survive.

Enable Ginger