28 November 2011

Oren Yakar אורן יקר

I googled you Oren, but you just don't exist in cyberspace.
Barak interviewed me for a documentary he's making on you. Originally, I was supposed to just read For You, Oren, but then we started talking and all the memories of you flushed me. Of course I needed this after almost 20 years.

I brought the diary with the drawings to the interview - just as an afterthought.
But really, I think I had the feeling that not many paintings or drawings have survived your destructive hand.

And since there is nothing out there in cyberspace about you, I thought to post these drawings here to share them with others - I didn't realize I have a treasure.

So I hope this will ease the pain, and help me heal the open wound...

(c) all rights reserved to khulud kh. (2011)

18 November 2011

For you, Oren בשבילך - אורן יקר

(c) photo by khulud kh (2011)

Do you remember, Oren, how I used to hold your curly head and caress your shoulder as you bent low over the window to throw up?

Do you remember, Oren, when I used to lay on your bed – naked.
And you would sit on the floor with a piece of charcoal in your hand.
And you would draw me – naked.

Then, when you finished your masterpiece, we would both look at it for a while – before you shred it into pieces – beautiful art for the sake of art, to be discarded.

I wrote you poems, and you just laughed them away and graded them.

Then, one day, we stood at the top of the stairs, and you told me: “I will push you down these stairs.” And you almost did.
That day, you also told me, “If you leave me, I will kill myself.”

And then I left – all the way to the other side of the world.

And when I came back, I wanted to see your face, run my fingers through your curls, just this one more time, before I go on.

I dialed the number, etched into my bones.
Olivia answered.
I asked, “Can I speak to Oren?”
Silence on the other side. Then, a shocked voice dripping with agony, “Who is this?”
“It’s me,…”
“Oren is gone.”
I wanted to ask when will he be back, and could she please tell him that I called… but then… the agony in her voice enveloped me, and I understood. Oren is gone. Gone.

“If you leave me, I will kill myself.”

Oh, Oren… I am carrying these words inside me wherever I go, along with the memory of your face, the feel of your curls, and the sweetness of your smile…

(c) all rights reserved to khulud kh, 2011

16 November 2011


When I saw you for the first time – down there in the library, I was mesmerized.
Mesmerized by your beauty, the softness of your movements, the way you held the pen between your fingers, and the way you leaned on your elbow. The whisper of your voice.
You made me break my silence with –
the flutter of your eyelashes, like a confused butterfly.

But I knew you are not for me – I was sure of this.
So I just smashed the feelings into the corner of my stomach.

And then… all of a sudden, you surprised me the other night… leaving a small opening for me…
Will I dare to…
Or was this opening just a teasing? Was it just a joke to torture me?

That night, I went to bed with your name softly making its way into my body. The rhythm of it.
And the last thought before giving way to the other world – was that of tasting your lips.

All this is brand new, brand fresh for me… don’t think I’m a master of it just because I dare come closer… my whole body is shaking from excitement, but also fear…

Will you come and sit here with me in this Diwan, let me hold you, let your hair loose and let me caress it… just softly walk my fingers up and down your shoulder… only this, and a soft kiss of your lips… nothing more. I promise.

And if you don’t want to – that is alright with me too.

(c) all rights reserved to khulud kh, 2011