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4.	Everyone lives life in their own way,
But why am I spared, I’d often say.
Once more, my mother and the bearded elder,
Saved me from death, my life to shelter.

It was summer, the skies restless and wild,
Sun blazed, then thunder roared, tempers piled.
With my wife in a tub on the back of my ride,
I drove my motobike, the roads far and wide.

The dirt roads, scarred by heavy rain’s flow,
At times slippery, at times slow.
We passed the plains of Shomyshkol’s land,
Searching for stray cattle, following the sand.

The clouds, like warriors, fought in the sky,
Revealing the sun, then covering it shy.
I pushed the throttle with all my might,
Hoping to reach the hills before twilight.

Suddenly, a dark cloud loomed near,
The motorcycle’s engine sputtered in fear.
When the sky lit up with a thunderous flash,
I saw the earth erupt in a dusty crash.

No one was around, just us and the plain,
Nature’s spectacle, fierce and insane.
Lightning struck the ground ahead,
Leaving a scorched trail in the sand it fed.

The grass burned fiercely, consumed in flames,
We sat there, stunned, lost in the game's claims.
To be saved from death once again,
How could I resent you, elder, in vain?

You appeared first when I was parched with thirst,
You saved me from drowning, from life’s worst.
Had the motorcycle engine not stalled just then,
We’d have perished, like the grass, in the end.

The heavens poured rain in a relentless stream,
But fear no longer lingered in our dream.
And suddenly, with a kick to the engine’s core,
The motorcycle roared to life once more!

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