Forty Five Years to the Ammunition Hill


“And nobody asked where to

Whoever went first fell

You needed a lot of luck

On the ammunition hill”

(Yoram Teharlev)



The Ammunition Hill


Rusting iron tendons strain out

of the crumbling, bullet ridden concrete

and down the slope high thorns and barbed wire.


From the entrance of a dark bunker in the deserted trenches

I see through the firing slits little red buses

moving to and fro

and the houses of Jerusalem standing around in a large circle.

The mountain can always erupt again

spitting sulphur and flames.


Through a thin blue curtain hanging in the heat of the day

the battle picture is frozen, blurring in the distance

the sounds of war are weakening,

and only the footsteps of the tourists

a baby falling asleep in the pram

and birds.

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