Absence - a poem on (but not for) Yom HaShoah

[entanglingbriars]

I.
I do not eat, yet I rarely hunger.
Perhaps I should be grateful, contented.
I need food, but if I do not want it
There is no pain; the absence is ignored.
But only in those pangs of hunger
Do I recognize that You should be there.

I do not sleep, yet I am not tired.
Perhaps I should be grateful, contented.
I need sleep, but if I do not want it
There is no pain; the absence is ignored.
But only when my eyelids droop, my mouth yawns
Do I recognize that You should be there.

I do not drink, yet I never thirst.
Perhaps I should be grateful, contented.
I need water, but I do not want it
There is no pain; the absence is ignored.
But only when my throat is parched and dry
Do I recognize that You should be there.

II.
I smother the absence in food, in drink, in song.
I smother it also with fear, frustration, folly.
My days are filled with work that needs to be done,
With people to love, with battles to fight.
At night, exhausted, I rest, and am
Grateful for my kith and kin.
"If I am not for myself, who will be?"

So much is happening: I jump into water
And tread so I am not sucked down.
I look for others stranded in the sea.
I say I want to help them,
But I rarely swim to their side.
For the effort of keeping myself afloat consumes me.
"If I am only for myself, what am I?"

Caught up in all of this, how can I pray?
I may mouth the words, but my mind wanders
And my heart does not believe.
Oh, that my words were dust and ashes,
But I say them blithely; I do not choke.
What should follow is, "If not now, when?"
But when I say this, it rings false, hollow.

III.
Yet sometimes I hear the song of silence;
Sometimes the darkness be so bright, I see.
I go to the well of deliverance,
But of course it is dry -- water is dust.
The world cracks apart, but no light gets in.

Is the world broken? Is it unfinished?
The absence is clutching and ravenous.
It burns without heat, it burns without light.
For now, I recognize Your absence.
Now I long for what may or may not be.

I have never seen Your face or footprint,
"This is where You must be!" I cry, I weep.
You should be the puzzle piece that completes,
But my wish for You does not make You real.
Perhaps this puzzle has no final piece.

IV.
And tomorrow, when I read this
I will laugh at my folly.
I will smile and think,
"Who is this who believes
"That a moment of longing is profound?"

And tomorrow, when I read this
I will remember that emotion means nothing.
I will wonder why I thought You
Could complete the puzzle
And mock myself for wanting to.

Either for a moment You broke through
And I encountered something far more real
Than anything I know. Or for a moment
I felt emotion and put it into words
That only a fool would write.