My Wild Children 

Yehuda Amichai

My wild children: in the morning 

 they eat my dreams, at evening 

 they wolf down my memories. 

 I am their manger. 

 I feel their rough tongues 

 on my soul. 

 I hear their sweet and empty slurping 

 day and night. 

My wild children, my barracudas 

 sopping up my madness, muting my scream. 

 I dig into them. 

I want to light my eyes 

 from their eyes, 

 as on a dark nocturnal street 

 a man asks for a light 

 for his last cigarette.