In Search of the Shtetl

What will they say, what about the past, no travelling, so they say, where are the clouds, what is left of time, nothing more was heard. We say we are alive, the ocean got its tide, as they call it, which does not want to miss the beach. What shall I say about my life? Was everything a fatamorgana, a grace of a blind man, who can see me with his eyes? An endless silence had set in, with my face came a second, melted as if it was rain, over alleys and houses, scorched with a red gleam a cloud is wandering. Carry my picture from the town, teach me to dance.