IN MY POOR HOUSE

By Moishe Bernshtein

In my poor house where I deployed my dreams

That climbed on naked walls lime colored

On sacred books and spread names

By the light of the lamp which is lit in a corner.

Childhood dreams don't know of limits

Far, far took me like a horseman

And when the road was unknown

A hidden tremor caught me

In my poor house at light and at darkness

Each corner had its meaning

Although playing I forgot all as every boy

And a hidden tremor accompanied my soul

In my poor house were intoned songs

Of many workers of mom's sewing shop

That pleasure penetrated in my life

I always feel it, I feel it as it were new.

In early dawns bowed on a sacred book

my father intoned a melody

He never revealed me the secret of the melody

He rocked me with the melody in a secret world

That nested in me with a lament.

In my poor house were told wonderful stories

Were told by neighbors with "Chasidic" ecstasy

Together and separate, they accompany me in my wandering

As echoes that arrive from the distance

as "balalaikas" sounds

My poor house was rich on Saturdays and during festivities

On the Sabbath table the chandeliers shone like crowns

Dad's songs, mom's prayers, the story of

"Sarah daughter of good people"

They didn't get lost, I feel them today.

Poor house was my poor house, where a

simple orchard flourished

I liked thinking & resting were my dreams were sinking

My dear poor house that I keep with love in my memory

I go drunk in the life, drunk by your good wine.